I am a Hero
by Auburn Tomorrow
Summary: Peter always knew he was going to be a superhero, but his two super dads were never going to let that happen if it was up to them. However, some things cannot be stopped. After an accident in Banner's lab, Peter gains super powers. Out of fear of his parent's disapproval he hides his power with the help from Wade Wilson who may be more than he appears. Domestic!Avengers, Spideypool
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **

So, this was originally only posted on tumblr, but why? Why not throw it around? This story is indeed my hoe after all.

Enjoy :D

**Chapter****One: ****What ****I've**** always****known**

From when he was a child, Peter didn't know what he wanted to be, but understood who he was meant to be.

"Again!" Natasha snapped, her spit visible under the light. Her sweat was running down her face in streams. It made her mascara run as if she were crying, though everyone knew she certainly wasn't. The sweat made her hair wet and the only way she could breathe was to pant. Peter watched as a line of sweat slid down her cheek. In a smirk, she licked it off. Peter thought that was the scariest she could ever look: hungry.

At age six, Peter sat on one of the metal chairs as Natasha circled Clint in the boxing ring. This was one of his father's, Steve's, favorite places to train. It looked vintage, down to the lockers and the old inspirational posters of men working out. He came here looking for him, but ended up being lured in by the action.

Clint and Natasha played a game. They would place three sticky notes somewhere on their body and the point would be to take their opponent's sticky notes before the other could. Surprisingly, it's actually a very long game.

After a few hours of playing, this was their second game.

No blinking—because blinking is for wimps, Peter believes—the two assassins keep their eyes in a dead locked sort of stare as Natasha takes back all her sticky notes. Clint snickers only having to take one. Obviously, Natasha didn't find the humor.

Stepping back, she cracks her neck. The way it popped made Peter's skin crawl out. Next, just to tease her, Clint cracked his knuckles just by closing his fists. Peter tried to imitate it, but his little fingers made no sound.

Suddenly, his eyes fly back to the ring as Natasha made a dive for the side. She pushes off the rope and is hurtled like a canon ball towards Clint. She moved first. She's desperate.

Clint spun around and faced the other way in time to grab her arms. She's laid back on his chest, causing her to kick the air in a violent struggle. Nervously, Peter's heart thumped hard against his chest, almost hard enough to break through his rib cage.

With a sturdy huff, Natasha uses all of her strength and slams down back to the ground. In doing so, she throws Clint off of her. He smacks the ring's rope, tumbling to the ground. Still sore from the previous game, he groans, lifting back up to his feet. Natasha snickers and that grabs Clint's attention quickly. He sees her wiggling a pink sticky note. Clint laughs out of respect and finds his fight again.

Clint goes after her and halfway to her, he's stopped by something that sounds like the start of a nag:

"Peter!" Steve's voice echoes through the gym. Meekly, Peter turns around in his chair, slightly hiding behind it. His dad always narrows his brow when he's upset and there he sees it. Of course, it's aimed at him. Steve questions him the same way he questions a murder, "What did I tell you about coming in here? There's no telling what could happen." Thankfully, he aims the furrowed brow at Clint and Natasha. Peter can breathe.

Steve demands an explanation, "What were you thinking? He's six. Tony and I allow you to live here, so I expect to receive your best behavior. Is this really it?"

"Aw, c'mon cap," Clint smiles, huffing out of breath, "He was fine."

"Yeah," Natasha agreed and nods heavily, she motions to him, "What do you take us for? Like we're really going to put Peter in danger. Calm down."

Steve's brow softens, but he is definitely not happy. He says nothing, which may be worse than saying anything and he walks away. Heading towards the door, he motions his son to follow him, "Come with me Peter."

Disappointed, Peter slumps down and glimpses at the ring. The two shrug and apologize with their eyes. There's no use going against the Captain. He smiles in return before scurrying to catch up with his father. It's hard walking with him though, he's so big. When he tries to catch a glimpse up at his face, he nearly falls over backwards.

Steve has his head up, deep in thought. He doesn't really know how to explain to Peter how being in the gym is dangerous without making him afraid of Clint and Natasha… maybe, Hawkeye and the Black Widow, yes.

The silence stirs a nervous ache in Peter's belly. He swallows, working up the nerve and reaches out for his father's hand. His little fingers seem like nothing to such a strong hand. Steve glances down to Peter trying to keep up with little legs. It makes Steve chuckle and just completely melt. He stops and picks Peter up.

Surprised, Peter stares at Steve as he continues to walk for the both of them. He notices how he's still not saying anything. Peter frowns, laying his head on Steve's shoulder as he wraps his arms around his neck. "I'm sorry," Peter mumbles, though he's not sure what he did wrong. However, Uncle Thor has always told him it's sometimes best to say sorry.

"Oh, Peter," Steve sighs, feeling like a jerk, "It's not your fault. Don't worry about it." He pats his little back, holding his strength back, "Alright buddy?"

Peter nods.

With a smile, Steve kisses his head. They wait for the automatic door to open to Steve's own office at Stark Tower, though he has no idea what to do with it. He demanded a smaller room and one less extravagant than the one Tony insisted. This room is packed with less steel and metal, replaced with big wooden pieces and could maybe be the only room with carpet, a green carpet. It reminds Steve of his dad's old office.

Steve lets Peter down as he remembers something very important. Suddenly aggravated, Steve announces, "Jarvis, would you please tell Tony to get in here?"

"Of course sir," Jarvis said gladly, adding, "And would you like me to do it in the same tone?"

"That would be great, thank you."

"No problem, sir."

Finding a spinning chair to sit on, Peter was already feeling bored. He spun slowly in the chair, kicking the floor to keep moving. Even the sensation of barfing wasn't exciting enough. Steve noticed this. In a sigh, he grabbed the digital camera off the table and handed it to Peter. "Here, play with this. Maybe you can teach me how to use it," He smiled, "you're smart."

"You're smart daddy," Peter tried assuring his father, turning the camera on.

"Thank you and here I thought people forgot that…" He looks off, not even speaking to Peter anymore in a gruff tone, "like you're father for example."

Peter said nothing. He could always tell when Steve was mad at Tony. He referred to him as "father." It wasn't exactly as nice sounding as daddy is.

Suddenly the door opened. Tony sauntered in, smugly as he glanced around the room. "Uh," He said, despondently looking around the room. The last time he was here it was modern and sleek, not his father's study. He spun around, acknowledging Steve, "You called?"

"Yes I did-" Steve started seriously, but hearing that tone, Tony couldn't help himself.

He interrupts, motioning to the rather large touch screen inside the desk's top. "Since when do you use Jarvis to initiates your fights?"

Steve shakes his head, finding this to be completely absurd. He knows he's in trouble and is trying to divert the conversation back on him. However, Steve knows his tricks. He remains unfazed, finishing his first thought, "Tony. You told me you would watch Peter while I had my meeting with S. H. I. E. L. D."

"I did?"

"You don't remember?" That is hard to believe, Steve thinks.

Awkwardly kicking his feet, Peter feels the tips of his feet drag along the carpet. He watches his dads through the camera's screen. He zooms in on Tony's raised brow and a look of innocence that was too smug to be sincere. He went on to argue, "No. I don't, could you play it back for me?"

Fondling his hair back, Steve grabbed at his locks. This shouldn't be that difficult. He doesn't even care. "Fine. Tony. Fine. Be that way, but just know Peter could've gotten hurt wondering around this place."

"Oh? This place? I thought this was home, but I'm sorry for my mistake."

Visually, Peter could see his dad's patience snap. He roared at Tony, making swift, sharp motions towards him, "Stop making yourself the victim! I've seen you gamble your life for the world, but you're not man enough to own up when you're wrong? _C'mon Tony_!" He laughs it's so ridiculous.

Tony raises a finger, unable to step down from high horse. His voice is harsh, fighting to yell, "Hold on, did you ever think I have to be defensive because everything is just the god damn end of the world to you," He does, admittedly, shout now, "and you over react about every fucking thing!"

"Don't curse in front of Peter!"

Peter presses hard on a top button and the flash engulfs the room. The two super heroes are taken back a moment in order to adjust their vision again. The heavy atmosphere did not leave though. Out of frustration, Steve rubs his eyes. Tony watches him and feels wretched inside, knowing another fight is not what they need.

He directs his attention to his son, softening his face. "What do you got there, sport?" He asks to Peter sitting awkwardly in the chair.

Biting his lips, Peter turns the camera around and presents the screen. He shows his dads, Steve looking down to see it. Peter shrugs, "I learned how to take a picture."

Tony chuckles through his nose and scoops the boy up. "Let's see," He smiles, taking the camera. He presents it to not only himself, but Steve. On that glowing screen they stare at two ugly, angry faces.

"You have a hideous yelling face, Cap," Tony shakes his head.

"Well, I can't always look good."

The two laugh a little, really getting a bigger picture of things. Peter doesn't understand the full gravity of the situation. All he can do is look back and forth at his parents until one of them says something. He hopes it's soon. He's very uncomfortable.

"You shouldn't have to look this way," Tony mentions, handing Steve the camera. He kisses Peter on the side of his head to calm him down.

Steve sighs, "It's not like I want to…"

"C'mere," Pulling a side smile, Tony motioned Steve. Rolling his eyes first, just to tease, Steve leans over Peter. Getting what he came for, Steve closes his eyes and finds a light kiss from Tony. He has missed the way his husband's lips felt. That's a very lonely form of nostalgia.

Breaking away, Steve wiggles the camera, "We should frame this as a reminder of what we should avoid."

In a quick nod, Tony said, "I agree."

"Really?" Steve smiled out of surprise. Teasing again, his smile widen as he leaned in for another kiss, "I like the sound of that."

"Don't get too excited," Tony warned, "I have a habit of tuning you out. It's a medical condition, Jarvis is looking into it-"

"That's enough," Steve mumbled right before kissing Tony.

Peter stretched himself away for the second time. There are a million places he rather be doing a million other things. He groaned, kicking his legs as he tried to get away, "This is gross!"

"Oh?" Tony chuckled, turning to his son, "Are we not giving you enough attention?"

The two parents took either side and laid a dozen kisses on his cheek, making Peter shriek and giggle…

That picture sits on the side table by the living room's couch to this day, eleven years later. It's hard to see now with the lights turned off, but it is there. The darkness doesn't last long as the front door opens and lets the light pour in. The light produces shadows of Iron man and Captain America as they stumble inside the house. The other avengers have already returned to their own designated rooms, all exhausted and beaten by their latest adventure.

As Iron Man stepped inside, more and more pieces are taken by the robotics in the floor, revealing someone very human. He's bruised and bleeding, having had no time to heal. The suit suddenly disappears and the floor boards close snuggly. He's turned back into Tony Stark, one that looks at the still dressed hero, "Just drop your stuff. Jarvis can come pick it all up."

Having no argument, Captain America drops his shield. Truth be told, he couldn't hold the thing up for one more minute. He didn't even care about the ruckus it made until he heard stirring in the back ground.

"Tony," He whispers, grabbing his husband's arm. He goes right into hero mode, stopping instantly. He opens his ears and senses to the room, trying to pin point the disturbance. The darkness just makes it that much harder on his exhaustion.

A brow raised, Tony lets the Captain have his moment before he completely bashes it. Sighing, he walks out of his hold and scoffs in a whisper, "Be real, we both know who it is."

Taking off his mask, Steve Rogers follows Tony through the room. Tony turns on a lamp on the side table and Steve really does feel silly. Peter is sleeping on the couch and he just rolled over. He's meshing his glasses awkwardly up his face while a quilt only covers half his body, the other half hangs off the couch. He's surrounded himself with his recent photos and a camera too expensive to be laid on the floor.

"How long have we been gone?" Steve asks out of concern.

Tony shrugs, "Days, that's all I can tell you… I think someone wished me a happy Friday, but my Japanese is bad."

Bending down to his knees, Steve flinches and remembers the wound in his thigh. He can't stop wincing, but his need to parent is much greater than the sting. "I've told him not to sleep with his glasses on." He takes them off and reaches for Tony.

Tony helps him up, his eyes locked onto Peter. He mentions, obviously distant about it, "I used to wait up for my Dad too. I knew he would be home, regardless of what I was doing but… there's just something about waiting up for your Dad."

There's nothing he could say, so Steve folded the glasses and set them on the table. "Let's get him bed," Steve tells Tony, "that can't be good for his back." Forgetting the pain again, he scoops up his son just as he's done before. No matter how old he gets, it's never difficult to pick him up. With that in mind, he thinks out loud, "He's too skinny."

Making a snort, Tony moved his camera to the table too. He follows Steve towards the door. He studies Peter's calm sleeping face in his dad's arms. It's so soft and sweet. Tony is instantly brought back to Peter as a baby. "We've done a pretty good job though… as parents."

Being how sudden that was, Steve laughs quietly. He looks back, a teasing smile on his lips, "What makes you say that?"

"Well, I stopped waiting up for my Dad…"

Steve's smile slowly falls. He only brings it back a second to comfort Tony. Tony nods, understandingly and they go and tuck Peter into bed. Just continuing the trend of being reckless with his injuries, Steve bends over and kisses Peter on the forehead. Tony is already by the door, watching. Sometimes he just likes to watch.

Looking back up, Steve catches Tony's stare. He looks dark, silhouetted inside the hallway's light with the exception of his heart, beaming its blue light through his shirt. He watches his husband fall back through the door without a word. Steve frowns, the exhaustion suddenly hitting him for many reasons. He takes a breath before pushing himself up and turns to the door just as it's closing by itself.

Wiping his face, Tony closes his eyes. Maybe if he keeps rubbing, he can rub out all the bad thoughts from his mind. It's all just taking up space, space he could be using for better things.

Before he can fully identify the sound of Peter's door opening and closing again, Tony is hit from behind by a strong force. Eyes popping open, he almost stumbles forward, but the force wraps itself around him, trapping him there in the hold. Tony knows it's Steve, even if his head is hidden behind his own.

"Oh, please," Tony sighs, patting the Captain's arms on his stomach, "I'm fine and you can barely stand. Actually, no, you're able to stand solely because all your weight is on me."

Steve squeezes tighter. His lips travel beside Tony's ear, speaking low and serious, "No jokes."

"I'm fine."

"Then I'm not. Let's talk about it."

Rolling his eyes, Tony manages to loosen the grip on him enough to turn around. He holds Steve's face, examining every hint of emotion on his face to the sad look in his eyes and his worried narrowed brow. "You always talk too much."

"Speak for yourself," Steve chuckles and looks down.

The moment he dares to look back up, he's caught there. Tony leans in close, his thumb caressing the soft skin it found. The thumb rubs off some forgotten dirt and grim from the battle field earlier today. It also reminded Tony of his busted lip. Oh well.

He pressed his lips against Captain America's and heard his sharp inhale of breath through his nose. Steve tensed up. There's a lot he needs to focus on. He doesn't relax when Tony kisses him, lips slightly parted. He kisses him back, tasting the slightly repugnant tang of copper. It weakens his belly, but it sure as hell feels nice to be close to him. He loses himself a moment too long and wavers backwards. One foot catches the ground too late and before he knows it, he's stumbling backwards.

Quickly, Tony throws a hand on the wall and Steve rests himself there. He chuckles, tiredly. "Maybe we should just take a shower and go to bed, huh?"

"Only if I'm invited," Tony smirks and leaves the wall. He presents his hand. Steve looks at it and then glimpses back to Tony. He's avoided him again. Some would say it's better than fighting, but Steve feels he gets more out of Tony if he's being shouted at. That's the only time he really lets all his emotions go. It's too tiring tonight though.

He takes the hand and they begin their journey back to their room. Steve rests his head on top of Tony's and reminds him, "I love you."

Tony responds by squeezing his hand, "I love you too."

oOo

"One more time!" Peter begs, "I got this!"

Inside his father's gym, he's sweating through a hoodie and sweat pants. Do you know what condensation looks like on a glass? Yeah, well that's Peter right now. As beaten as he obviously looks, he's bouncing back and forth on his feet, ready for a fight. It actually amuses Clint who took all of Peter's sticky notes in a matter of minutes. To his credit, Peter did tear off half of a sticky note.

"Are you sure?" Clint asks, almost feeling like the bad guy. It's kind of sad how unmatched Peter is against him.

"Yeah!" Peter huffs, out of breathe. He nods quickly and several times, emphasizing his point, but that just makes him look way too adorable for Clint. Fighting him now would be like fighting a puppy with anime eyes. It yanks at all his heart strings. Cute things are just so fucking cute.

Squeamish, Clint motions to Natasha sitting on a fold out chair beside the ring, "How about a round with Natasha? You know, to mix it up?"

Peter glances at Natasha. She's in work out clothes, probably had thought about training with Clint herself. Instead, she's reading through a STAR magazine Tony bought to see the article about him, which was something about him having hair plugs for his beard and he also has cancer… apparently.

Bored, Natasha's dark eyes flicker upward, meeting his. To Peter they screamed for blood. He flinches away and instantly tries scrapping the idea, "No. No, I'm good."

"It's okay," Clint encourages him, "She's not as scary as she looks."

Under her breath, Natasha laughed.

Now just wasting time, Clint gasps and throws his hand over his collar bone. He looks at Peter in wonder and horror, "You think Natasha is scarier than me!"

"Um," Peter's eyes slide around their sockets as he searches for an answer. This is his awkward geek taking over. He fumbles with the words, trying not to let the man known as Hawkeye feelings get hurt. "I wouldn't uh, say that." He really does have a soft way of speaking as if he always appears to be breathless.

"That's not fair, I was just as much a villain as she was and I've been in just as many battles. Peter. I've killed plenty of people."

Not even closing the magazine, Natasha speaks up, reminding him, "Oh please, I've manipulated you so many times you might as well be my sidekick." She flips the page.

Clint frowned at her.

"I could even be doing it now," a smirk stretched her full lips. Her eyes finally look up at him, forever challenging him.

"No Natasha," Clint smiles, causing a skip in her heart, "It's my turn."

Only slighted confused, Peter studies them for a moment, his impatience rapidly growing. Two people can't possible just stare at each other for that long. It's way too awkward. Over it, he groans, bobbing up and down. "C'mon!" He whines, "Let's go! Just one more time!" He shakes Clint's arm, still pleading with him.

Throwing his hands up, Clint caves to the cuteness that is Peter, "Alright!" Natasha laughs at him and shakes her head. He's entirely too soft. He says it again, convincing himself, "Alright! I think we have time before your dads get home." He falls back, readying himself. He takes off all the yellow sticky notes "Cause you know they'd kill me for this."

"For what?" Tony's voice freezes the room (well, Natasha knew he was there all along so it doesn't bother her). All the organs in Peter's body simultaneously clench up and he may throw up. Smoothly though, Tony simply saunters inside the room with his hands his pockets. "What would you be doing?" He calls out Peter.

A brow up, Tony waits for an answer as he leans on Natasha's chair. He knows the answer, but Peter knows his dad just wants him to stir in the tension. Peter understands the trouble awaiting him. That doesn't mean he can't try to weasel out of it, "Um, Clint and I were just working out. That's all."

"Oh? Is that how the kids are doing it nowadays, because fighting an assassin never occurred to me as a form of work out? Call me crazy," His sarcasm is stressed by his high shrug and incredulous look.

Keeping his mouth shut, Peter now understands why people stare at each other. It's because they have nothing intelligent to say. Peter points down, "I have to get off the ring, don't I?"

Tony's lips purse as he nods, "Good call."

Just being agreeable, Peter nods and moves to the edge. As if to mock him, Tony meets him there and holds up the ropes. Peter gets out, landing hard on his feet. Tony instantly lets the ropes go and starts marching towards the exit. Peter follows with his head down. This is going to be the same argument. The same one they have every time they come back from saving the world:

Why he can't be a superhero.

Halfway through their normal spiel—which Peter has memorized word for word—he grows tired and cracks his neck to rid of some boredom. Hanging his head to the left he notices a spider crawling on the wall. He wonders if he can hit it with his shoe from here, not because he hates spiders, but the wall is kind of far away and it sounds like a fun little challenge-

"_Peter_," Steve calls back his attention. His brow his furrowed deeply and his arms are crossed in that intense way that makes his arms flex. Peter knows he does it on purpose to be intimidating. Tony is next to him, lounging back on the couch with a glass of scotch. The ice rolls around in the glass.

In a blink, Peter asks, "Are we done yet?"

"No we are not done _yet_. What has gotten into you? Is this some sort of teenage rebellion?"

Peter isn't brave enough to tell them. He shakes his head, his stare dropping. Talks like this make him anxious. He tries rubbing his hands to counter it, but there's nothing he can do. It's just not fair.

"You can work out any place Peter, we have a separate gym just for that, but you are constantly putting yourself against Clint and asking Thor for help. You even asked Bruce about weapons and what people used to heighten their skills…"

Peter knows he doesn't have powers, which is fine. He's highly detailed and has trained himself to be fast and flexible. All he lacks is fire power.

"Talk to us Peter," Steve insists, still angry, "Help us understand. We thought you got over this… stage." That word might as well have been an insult to Peter. "You've been so dedicated to your photography, we just assumed you grew up." Another blow that just tore Peter up, peter has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from boiling over. Steve had one more in him though, "and gave up this silly fantasy-"

"This is just so hypocritical," Peter mumbles, bitterly shaking his head.

In a second, he'll wish he could suck that little comment back up.

Moving his glass to his lips, he asks his son before taking a sip, "Do you wanna elaborate on that son?" Why couldn't they have ended up with a spoiled brat that loved to use the Stark family riches for his own personal use? No. They had to end up with a good kid with a big heart. Tony blames Steve.

It's a trick. Peter glances at Tony, glaring at him. He falls for it. Peter opens his mouth and nothing can stop him now, he tells them, knowing his anger has etched it's way into every word, "It's hypocritical telling someone they can't be a hero when _they are heroes_." They have got to see how ridiculous it is.

"Peter," Steve sighs, wondering if he should have handled all this differently. He doesn't exactly have his parents around to give him advice and he's learned Tony may have the parenting skills of a potatoes. "You have to understand," He tires to explain in the most delicate way, "Tony and I, actually all of us didn't really have a choice when it came to becoming superheroes."

Shaking his head, Peter laughs. That's so full of shit. As angry as he is, he can find it in himself to yell. Anger still, it just shakes him inside out, "You have to be _kidding me_." He's practically trembling. To hide it, he stands up and circles the couch, "Of course you did. Steve you didn't have to join the army or say yes to the program. You didn't, and Tony didn't have to come back from his kidnappers all gun hoe…"

"We were at war at the time," Steve argued, "I had to protect my country."

Tony spoke up too, "I couldn't exactly let _my_ weapons kill innocent people."

"Okay!" Peter snaps, getting flustered. He didn't want to fight, but this isn't an argument about nothing. Since he was a kid all he has ever known was superheroes and what they do for the world. He just wants to help, be a part of something bigger than himself. He speaks quickly out of panic and all his powerful mixed emotions, "You guys had a slim area for choice, but a choice all the same-!"

Steve stands up, a larger than life entity in comparison to meek little Peter. Still, Peter has enough balls to meet the heavy stare. Steve tries to make this very clear, "Peter. We forbid you from perusing this fantasy."

"You forbid me," Peter snorts, resentfully. He mocks his father as he raises his hands up, "You _forbid_ me." He can't even take that sort of thing seriously. Laughing all the way out of the room, Peter leaves for somewhere less _forbidding_.

The door closing sounded very final to the parents. Out of all of this, Steve isn't even mad at Peter, but a little itch of annoyance does fester in his head. He looks down at Tony, his furrowed brow aimed and at the ready, "Nothing? You couldn't jump in there and help me out? Tony, we're a team, you're supposed to be on my side."

"I am," Tony assures him. He nods and drinks a little more. That warmth finds its way to all the right places. He explains to Steve, "but I'm more of that nerdy kid who sits quietly on the bleachers. I care, but I don't really advertise it."

Steve rolls his eye. Whatever. That's enough for today.

Foot Note:

I hope you loved it, yeah I said it. I don't want you to like it or "like-like" it, I want you to be in the love.

So gimme dat love and comment ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter**** Two: ****This ****is ****what ****I**** get**** for ****being ****helpful**

You're grounded from the gyms, they said.

You're car privileges are gone, they said.

You're not allowed anywhere near the weapons, they said.

Peter finds this whole ordeal to be stupid and honestly, really ridiculous. His parents haven't even been home a full day and they're already trying to control his life. _I mean seriously_, Peter thinks, _who grounds people from a room_? Usually people are grounded to a room. This is, like he said, stupid.

"You know," a voice creeps up behind Peter's brooding and tries to take him out of it, "normally when people look at flowers, they don't tend to have that doom and gloom face you're making."

Slowly, Peter gives his friend his attention, dropping his so called gloomy stare. Still, Harry Osborn insists on smiling in his presence. No. He shouldn't be mean. Harry is just trying to be nice. He forces a light hearted little chuckle that he half hopes will actually affect his current mood.

Harry has taken him to a pretty nice museum, one with a photo gallery without Peter even mentioning photography was the trade his parents expected him to go in. Maybe it's a sign, a very very bossy sign.

"Harry," Peter sighs and shakes his head. He rests his hand on Harry shoulder, giving him a smile that he deserves. Peter fails to notice the blush burning its way on his friend's cheek. Naively, he just goes on complimenting him, "I really do appreciate this. You have no idea how much I needed to get out of my house, so thank you."

"Man with this sort of feedback," Harry tilts his head, maneuvering a tad bit closer, "I should take you out more often."

"Yeah?" Peter grins, completely blind to Harry, who is flirting pretty hard, "that'd be-"

"Cool, where we going?" A force barges its way between them, resting his chin on Peter's hand. He found this move was necessary. He wasn't as blind to the intention as Peter was. Unmistakably though, it is cute how he's clueless to that kind of thing.

"Wade," Harry grimaces, his stomach doing a tuck'n roll just by seeing the guy. He can't fathom why Peter insists on being around, much less friends with this guy. Wade is a cancer survivor. You can still see his battle scars in thick patches all over his skin and even his face. He's like a fleshy Dalmatian with thick brown hair tussled at the top.

BUT, that's not why Wade bothers Harry.

It's just Wade in general that bothers Harry. Wade is Wade's worst feature.

Peter slides out from under Wade's chin, chuckling at his odd entrance. He does love to make an entrance. Harry is not as amused, which is made clear by his arms crossing and his I-hate-the-sight-of-you kind of tone, "You're late Wilson. Why even show up after an hour of being late?"

Dramatically, Wade drops his jaw as if it were possible for him to be insulted. He lifts his hand that asks Harry to back off. Enlightening Harry, he seems to be making a speech for an audience in a stadium instead of two people in a museum, "I had skin cancer okay. _Cancer_, you know the legit illness not that shit you go to your pediatrician for. My parents had to sell our cars in order to pay for my expensive medical bills so yeah," He could see the guilt fester in Harry's eyes. He can't even look at Wade, which—regrettably for Harry—only proves Wade's point. "Don't you feel like a piece of shit now? Go," He motions Harry away, "go get me a soda. _Now_."

After a quick glare at Wade, his whole demeanor softens looking at Peter. He smiles at him, touching his arm, "Don't go anywhere."

"I won't," Peter assures him.

Waiting for Harry to be far enough out of range, Peter studies Wade. He's sticking his tongue out at some stranger who was rudely staring at him for too long. He then brings up his cancer to that person and they suddenly have nothing to say.

Peter snorts, "You're so full of it."

"Full of what Peter?" Wade raises, sticking his hands in his pockets as he turns away. Peter follows him to a photograph of an old person surrounded by blooming roses. Wade crouches down to Peter's level, having no regard for his space, "Full of awesome? I know."

At least he's whispering.

"Why were you really late? _Honestly_," Peter feels the need he has to remind him of the word. Sometimes Peter thinks that concept confuses Wade.

Smirking, Wade is tickled by Peter. He really has a thing for calling him out on his shit. He tells Peter, _honestly_, "I was late on purpose." He sighs, glancing around the joint, "hoping you two nerds would be done with all this boring stuff and wanted to skip ahead and grab some dinner."

His eyes catch something and he's like a little kid, shouting out of nowhere, "_Oh! Look! _Decapitated rodents! My favorite!" He suddenly breaks out into a run and a piece of Peter wonders if this is going to be first time he gets kicked out of a museum.

"Hey!" Peter calls out disapprovingly, when he really just wants to follow him. He glances back for Harry, because of his promise but he's nowhere in sight. Feeling horrible for it already, Peter decides to catch up to Wade, in turn, he accidently hits his shoulder.

Wade chuckles, glancing down at him. He sees a light tint of pink on his cheeks. It's cute the way he gets so flustered over nothing. Oh, he just can't help himself. Grinning wide, from ear to ear, he stretches out his arm and drapes it over Peter. That pink deepens to red almost automatically. Wade finds himself chuckling again.

"We should stay close so Harry can still see us," Peter clears his throat, his awkwardness getting the best of him. He doesn't know why he has trouble formulating the simplest of sentences, but that doesn't make it stop from happening. Besides, Wade staring at him does not help in the slightest. Truthfully, Peter has always had a crush on him, ever since they sat by each other in World History back in their sophomore year. Every year after, their little flirty jokes seem to develop into something more and more serious.

"Peter, I'm sorry but Harry is a pill," Wade said.

"He is not," Peter huffs, shocked he said that. He tries sticking up for him, "He actually took me here because I was upset and he wanted to cheer me up."

"_Pssh_," Wade bashes that. He tries to speak like a know-it-all, but it's too ridiculous to be taken seriously, "These little dinky photographs are not what you need. You need some hookers, hard liquor, the good shit to get you high, and if all that fails, you need to punch stuff."

Putting his hand over his mouth, Peter laughs as hard as he can without disturbing other. It hurts, he wants to laugh so hard, like roll on the floor and kick your feet kind of laugh. Wade is crazy, no doubt, however there is no one out there better to make Peter smile and laugh. With Wade, he sort of forgets his problems, or they seem too small to matter.

Peter lets this slip through his chuckling, "Who do you think you're talking to?" He gasps to catch some breath, "_ohmygod_, _haha_."

"You're right. Not you're style…" He pauses, letting Peter wipe his imaginary tear. He demands, "You need ice cream."

"What?"

"Let's ditch this place and go to Dairy Queen."

Glued to his smile, Peter shakes his head and ducks out from under Wade's arm. His head nods backwards, motioning to where they were, "I can't leave Harry."

Wade pouts.

Harry is eventually going to really piss Wade off. He can sense it the same way he senses the need to belch. Wade plays nice though, still teasing, "Alright, well finish up here and meet me at the DQ, but since it'll be at night it counts as a date."

"Yes," Peter grits his teeth as Wade begins to back away, "And no, it won't be a date."

Turning around, Wade still has no decency, calling back out to Peter, "When you finish your date here, call me and then I'll show you what a good date is like!"

"This is not a date!" Peter snaps. He usually forgets himself around Wade, shouting again, "There will be no date today!"

"Tell that to Harry!"

Flustered, Peter finds no use in arguing with him and just watches him saunter away. He's so smug. Finally, having walked everywhere for a vending machine, Harry went back to where he left them. _So much for staying put_, he thinks, standing alone like an idiot with two sodas in his hands. It's the second he hears his name, he perks up. Finding Peter near the noise, he quickly scurries to be at his side. He's put off by the blush on his cheeks mainly because he wasn't there to cause it.

"Where did Wilson go?" Harry asks, not that he's disappointed.

"Oh," Peter sighs and Harry presents him with a drink, "He got bored so he left." He takes the Coke.

"That sounds like him."

Taking it upon himself, Wade's intended drink becomes Harry's and he drinks a good swig. He slurps it and Peter couldn't be less attracted to him. He ends up thinking about what Wade said (or yelled). This can't possibly be a date… nope. Can't even imagine it.

But a date with Wade? That doesn't sound so bad.

oOo

"Are you sure you don't want a ride?" Harry offers for the fifth time.

Does Peter have to hit him over the head with crowbar to get through to this guy? Instead, he just smiles again and tells him again, "No, I'm really fine." He adds, just to spice up the conversation, "It's not far and I have to make a phone call."

Visually, Peter can tell Harry is thinking about asking again so he ends it. "I'll see you at school." He goes in for a hug, but it grows awkward quickly with Wade's comment making camp in the back of his mind. Harry doesn't notice and pulls him close around the waist, close enough he's basically kissing Peter's shoulder.

Slightly grossed out, Peter peels out of the hold and leaps past him, "Bye Harry!"

He avoids looking back. He just keeps his head forward and walks. The day has seem to have ended without Peter noticing as the orange tinted sky yearns for complete darkness. Getting excited, some of the lamp posts are flickering to lighten the roads. Still, no one seems to be affected by the time. People always have somewhere to go.

Pulling out his phone, Peter gives Wade a call. It rings longer than Peter expected, but Wade answers, "Hello?!" He pants on the other line and Peter jumps at the sound of crash.

He's instantly thrown into a panic, "_Wade?_ Are you alright? What's going on?"

"Nothing," he coughs and clears his throat, "Just cleaning up a little."

"But what was that-"

"Are you ready for our date?"

"Don't avoid my questions. It'll just make me more curious."

"What's curious is you neglected to deny having a date with me this evening."

"Wade," Peter sighs. This is what he doesn't like about Wade. It's as if he's a completely different person at times and Peter really has no idea who he is. He doesn't enjoy thinking about it though, it just makes him sad. It's his life and Peter understands that it is only Wade's business, but if only he could open up, even just a little bit. It will have to be on his own time and in his own way.

Dropping it, Peter mumbles into the phone. He feels stupid, spewing out lines like this, "I'll decide whether it's a date or not by the end of the evening." God, isn't that just embarrassing? Peter would take it back if he could.

"Really now? I'll do my best Mr. Stark-Rogers."

Peter starts to laugh, yet it lumps in his throat. It goes dry and his attempt to swallow only scratches his throat. Wade can hear a small gasp in his receiver. His stomach tightens. Wade asks, "Peter, what's wrong?"

"I, uh, just made a wrong turn," Peter says, glancing around, "I remember being on Wayne Street, but now I'm in some shady alley… it seems to lead into an even nastier alley. I guess I just got distracted." He pauses, waiting for a response. Wow, it's not easy shutting Wade Wilson up. "Hello?" Peter speaks up.

He looks at his phone, checking the signal. He has four bars. His dad built this phone, there's no way it has a problem. Wade must've hanged up. Some help he is-

Unexpectedly, a hard object is pressed into the fleshy part of Peter's back. He winces as the attacker whispers next to his ear, "Don't make a fuss. Drop the phone."

Man he suddenly wishes he took Steve's defense course more seriously and didn't make fun at that pepper spray his parents offered. He always thought this wouldn't happen to him… but the way this guy's breathe hits his neck and how it causes his skin to crawl, certainly feels like it's happening.

Remaining calm, Peter lets his phone fall out of his hands. It plummets to the ground and he swears he can hear the screen crack. The man forces his weapon deeper and he commands Peter again, "Put your hands up and put them on the wall."

Peter does as he's told, slowly stepping towards the wall. His weapon, it doesn't feel like a gun, which is good for Peter. Bullets are kind of hard to avoid. Carefully, making sure not to pull any sudden movements, Peter places his hands on the wall. He waits now.

"If you don't mind," The man mocks him. Peter can hear the man's smirk as he tells Peter what he could've already guessed, "I'll be helping myself to your wallet and other belongings."

The man kicks Peter's foot to move farther apart. Peter caught the way his weapon's pressure relaxed the second the man went to kick. That's just what he needed. As soon as Peter feels the man's foot hit his shoe, Peter dives down. In the same motion, he extends his leg and swirls around.

Out of shock, the man yells, being thrown onto his back. Peter sees the knife in his hand and almost vomits with the image he was so close to that thing. He shoots up straight, thinking it's best to just make a run for it when his face is greeted by someone's fist.

Peter whimpers and is thrown back into the dumpster. He stumbles, losing his feet and smacks into the close opposing wall. The pain radiates from his cheek and he can already feel it swelling.

There are two of them.

Dammit. He missed the new guy.

Finding it hard to breathe, Peter looks back and forth between the two men. From what he can tell, they're about three times his size, but only one has a knife. Quickly, one blocks Peter's only way of escape. He's raised his hands, ready for him. Peter notices a tattoo read as "Mama's Boy" on his forearm.

Oh yeah, his mom must be proud.

"What did I say about making a fuss?" The man with the knife sighs as if he's disappointed. "Now we have to kill you."

Like hell they are.

Peter makes a dive for Mama's Boy. In return the gorilla tries to snatch him, but Peter fakes it and kicks off the dumper. It powers a nice kick into the first man's rib cage. He cries out again, tripping backwards. Peter hurriedly uses his other leg to kick is arm. His hand pops open and the knife drops to the ground. Instinctively, Peter lunges for the knife, hopefully before they realize what's happening. Too bad they do.

The man clasps his hands around Peter's on the knife's handle. He clenches, digging his nails into Peter's skin. He fights the sting, but doesn't have to for long. From behind, Mama's Boy grabs his arms, lifting him up. Peter recalls his childhood, having watched Natasha throw men to the ground for pulling this stunt. He tries to do the same, but he's just not strong enough.

He still struggles. It's harder to come at him with that knife if he's kicking around inside the man's path. "That's enough," the man growls, his patience having grown thin. Peter continues to fight, thrashing desperately now as the knife looms closer. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This can't happen.

"Ha!" There's a laugh. It echoes against the alley's walls. Peter fails to hear it though, a little preoccupied. A red and black masked figure appears, jumping down from the roof. He lands hard on the dumpster, causing a thunderous boom to shake the criminals. "Mine's bigger," the figure snickers, sliding his katana from its sheath.

Deadpool.

By the time it takes Peter to blink, Deadpool has already leaped down to the ground and is shoving his sword through the man's chest. It makes the most grotesque sound Peter has ever head, but that's instantly over shadowed by the man's screaming. Deadpool wastes no time, grabbing Peter by his collar and ripping him out of the man's clutches, in pain, but out of harm's way. Peter slides on his hands and knees across the ground. Quickly, he snaps his head back and sees Mama's Boy already stuck to the wall, resembling a pinned down frog for dissection.

Deadpool takes back what's his and notices the knife in the dead man's hand. "Dibs," he says and grabs the knife, sliding it into one of his belt pockets. Peter loses his ability to function. He can't move or speak. He can't even muster enough strength to get off the ground and it is not because he's scared. He's furious and only at himself. How could he be so stupid? Looking back he thinks of the countless things he could have done to win that fight. Yet, there doesn't seem to be much point now. Someone had to swoop in and save his ass.

Deadpool looks down to the frustration plaguing Peter. He huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. This guy really knows how to beat himself up. He can't just leave him to stew in his own self-hate like this.

Groaning, Deadpool seems to have an inner argument. He stomps around in a circle like a child and hops a few times, prior to coming up with a decision. Heaving out his sigh, Deadpool sets his sights on Peter. He grabs the guy by the collar again and stands him up on his feet. "Get up!"

"Whoa!" Peter yelps.

"There's no use sticking around here…"

An idea pops into his head. He sneers under the mask. From grabbing Peter's collar he goes to resting his arm around his shoulders. Moving his face close to Peter's, it tickles him how the boy doesn't know how close their lips are to touching. "Unless," Deadpool snickers, "you feel like spending some time with me."

Deadpool. Peter knows Deadpool only from what his fathers and the team complains about. They say he's not a real hero, only out for money and personal gain. He apparently also has a poor, not to mention annoying attitude. Still, Peter has to feel grateful as shitty as it feels to be a damsel in distress, he was saved by this guy.

"Thanks, really, I'm thankful but," Peter steps out of the hold, feeling a little sheepish talking to Deadpool so casually, "But I'm busy."

Deadpool extends his arms and asks, "What's more important than hanging out with your savior?"

Thinking fast, Peter smiles rather boastfully, "A date."

"Is he prettier than me?"

"He's pretty hot."

"Oh, _okay_," Deadpool snorts and shakes his head. He turns around, sauntering down the alley way, blending right in with the rest of the filth. He may mock Peter, but he'd be the one getting mocked if Peter could see how hard he's blushing.

Peter sighs and fingers through his hair. This is not what he needed today. Then, it hits him because his day just isn't done until life spits in his face. Peter snaps his attention to the ground, searching through the trash. He finds his phone and frowns deeply, noticing the new feature to his screen. It's ridiculously cracked, the very picture of a spider web.

Sure he can fix it or get a new one easy. Explaining how it broke to his parents:

Not so much.

Putting that quandary in the back of his head for later, Peter returns to the safe path on the sidewalk, there's only one load of crap he can handle at a time.

Eventually Peter gets to Dairy Queen. A part of him didn't want to come anymore. It was hard functioning fully after experiencing something like that, but Peter is sure Wade can completely take his mind of it. He would like his mind to be taken off of this.

The second he spots Wade, a huge wave of relief washes over him. He's standing at the door, staring at kids as they walk by. His eyes are wide and seem to be scarring the kids. One kid even ran to his mother's other leg and held it for dear life.

"You're a trouble maker Wade Wilson," Peter states, making that his way of acknowledging himself. It was also his version of flirting, though he's sure it's horribly wrong.

"I try not to disappoint," Wade shrugs, having only brushed his eyes over Peter a little. His eyes resting now, he spots the ugly purple bruise forming on Peter's cheek, just at the bottom of his eye. A small heart can still drop just as fast and his does. His eyes dark, Wade takes Peter's wrist.

He neglects his control, not realizing how tight his hold is, but it's not like Peter can fight it. Peter winces and shamefully keeps his head down. Wade is going to think he's a loser. And why not? Peter certainly believes it.

Away from the crowd, Wade takes Peter's jaw with both hands. He tilts his head, trying to study the bruise closer. "Are you alright?" Wade asks, a terrifying thought dawning on him, "Is there more? Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"No, no," Peter mumbles, his eyes pinned to the ground. He takes Wade's hands, in order to stop him from looking any further, but Wade refuse to let go. Let any of it go.

"What's with that face?"

"It's a few things…" His sob story though, is not something he wants to say aloud. To Peter, admitting all his inner fears aloud, putting them out there just makes his insecurities official. "I don't want to talk about it," Peter dismisses it, shaking his head. He steps away from Wade, turning towards the other way, "I'm just gonna go home."

"Hey!" Wade snaps, yanking Peter back by his arm. "You can't just leave off like that," Wade argues at him, even if Peter is doing his best pretending to ignore him, "I hate it when people get all fucking mysterious. You have a problem, tell me, don't go crawl away and hide from it. Man up Peter. Shit, I'll let you yell at me-"

That hit the right cord with Peter. "Fine!" He roars, darting his eyes straight through Wade's with no fear. "I'll tell you! Just shut up Wade!"

Put in his place, Wade mumbles quietly, before Peter can go on, "Jeeze, I said yell not bite my head off."

"All my life, I've only ever wanted one thing and yet… I keep failing. Nothing I do works out and my whole life has been like that. I'm starting to feel like people are just expecting less from me, because…" His voice cracks. The water in his eyes boil and burn, but he doesn't cry. The sound of his voice is the exact match to the sound of defeat, "I'm not special. I'm just some skinny kid, a side character to the important people in the world, because I'm surrounded by people like that, amazing people… and I can never amount to any of them. I'm weak, pathetic, awkward and I'm a loser-"

"Whoa! Whoa! _Whoa!_" Wade has to stop him there. Man, when Peter let's go, he really let's _all of it_ go. He takes Peter's other arm, forcing him closer. "Slow down, hasn't anyone ever told you foam wasn't made in a day?"

Peter spits out a bitter laugh. "That is not the saying."

"Doesn't matter! What I mean is," His voice softens, "slow down." He squeezes Peter's arms. He tries to fight through his inner need to be sarcastic in order to be helpful to this doe eyed young man (He barely said anything yet and it feels almost impossible). "Not one person in this whole suddenly becomes great. Thousands of people are told 'no' every day and yet they go on to become great. Just look at Captain America for example."

Peter perks up, hearing his father's name, though Wade can't possibly know. He lets Wade continue, interested in what he has to say, "Before he was in the army, he received rejection after rejection and now look at him. Peter, it only takes once. It only takes one moment for your life to change."

Looking into Wade's eyes and seeing the deep, powerful sincerity behind them, Peter finds it's hard to argue. Maybe that's what his dads meant by "not having a choice." At the time, it probably felt like there was nothing they could do when Peter, just a moment ago, really felt like he could back out. He can't though. Deep in his gut, Peter envisions his time is coming soon. He knows it will.

"You're—it's weird saying this," Peter chuckles, slyly taking a step up. He closes the distance between them some, hoping Wade receives the good vibes he's giving off. "Right… how does it feel?"

"Like it's about time," he smirks, watching Peter laugh again. He likes it when Peter laughs. It lets him forget about how much of a terrible monster he is, however the feeling never fails to return. Despite that nice moment and being so good to Peter for as long as he has, it's only a matter of time before he fucks up and hurts him.

"Well," Wade sighs, releasing Peter. He walks backwards, disappointing Peter a little. He feels his crush on Wade may be a hard thing to control, or it has a control on him. Wade motions towards the Dairy Queen, "If you're done bitch'n let's start our date."

Rolling his eyes, Peter hurries to catch up to him. "No remember, I'm deciding at the end whether it was a date or not," Peter lets him know in order to have some dominating control. He's not letting Wade get the best of him.

Enjoying the challenge, Wade sneers, "I better do my best then."

Peter begins to say something, when it hits him:

Wade never asked what happened to him.

It's like he knew, but he couldn't have. There's no way.

Without letting his suspicions go, he doesn't say much as they approach the restaurant. There, Wade opens the door for him, "That gives me some points, right?"

"Not if you have to ask," Peter grins, teasingly as he walks by.

"That's fine," Wade shrugs, unfazed by his comment. It's hard to throw the master of smartass comments. He simply throws back, "I like it when things are difficult." They walk up to the counter and a little petite blonde girl. He mentions, "It just makes things funner."

"Funner isn't a word," Peter mumbles.

Happily with a smile, Wade says "Shut up," just before he orders, "One large Strawberry quake and that's it."

"Alright," The girl cheerfully rings up.

As someone behind her makes the frozen treat, Peter raises a brow to Wade. He's not sure where he's going with this only buying one thing. He's sure it has something to do with his "date challenge" or whatever. It would also suck for Wade if he didn't even like Strawberries or cheese cake. Lucky for him Peter does.

The girl hands them the ice-cream and Wade asks for two spoons. Receiving them, he moves Peter towards a booth in the back, one with a window. Peter slides in one side and Wade in the other. "This is good," Wade grins and hands Peter a spoon. He wastes no time, digging in. Amused, Peter watches him and the blissful face he makes, tasting the ice cream. His eyes even roll to the back of his head.

"Is it good Wade?" Peter teases again, taking a measly looking spoonful.

Wade hums like an animal and nods quickly. Finding himself laughing again, Peter eats his part. The cold ice-cream soothes his irritated throat, numbing it in a nice way. He quickly takes a bigger spoonful.

"The only bad part," Wade says, taking a breath from stuffing his face. With his spoon, he points to the ice-cream, "is there's never enough cheese cake."

"They should call it strawberry ice cream and maybe some cheesecake if you're lucky," Peter said, making Wade laugh this time. Proudly, Peter smiles and dips his spoon in.

He raises it and something catches Wade's eye. "Speak of the devil," he mentions. Wade's spoon suddenly whacks Peter's, almost knocking the ice-cream off. "You got a wad of cheesey cake in there and I want it."

"Get your own!" Peter protests in his chuckle, yanking his arm back to keep his spoon far away from Wade's red little weapon. Determined, Wade extends himself across the table to get to it, in a hopefully rewarding completely uncomfortable position. Yelping, Peter shoots up, causing his knees to awkwardly hit the bottom of the table as he stretches his arm.

"It's melting!" Peter shouts, watching the ice-cream begin to slide down his spoon towards his fingertips.

"Oh, no!" Wade hollers desperately and runs out of his booth. Peter squeals, getting backed into a corner by Wade as he's scooting his knees across the cushion. Back to the wall, Peter makes a futile attempt of stretching his arm across the table. Placing one hand by Peter's head, Wade forgoes his spoon and snatches Peter's wrist instead.

Peter, as much as he struggles, is forced by Wade to bring his arm back. His hand trembles in the fight, right up to Wade lips. His mouth chomps down on the plastic spoon while he makes a satisfied hum. Peter is left to pout, "You could've asked."

Pulling back off the spoon (the cheesecake was delicious by the way), Wade bats his eyes lashes innocently, "Aw, you would've given it to me."

"No, but you still could've asked."

Snorting, Wade drops his head past his shoulders. Sometimes he thinks Peter is way too smart for him. He looks up and is instantly reminded of their closeness. Peter didn't even realize it himself. He can feel Wade's cool strawberry breath brush his lips like a promise to something much better than just his breath. The beat of his heart pulses in his ears because his stomach is too busy hatching butterflies to fit anywhere else. Hypnotized, he stares down at Wade's lips as if he can compel them forward. Wade catches himself staring too, but doesn't have the sense to look away.

Hungry for it, Peter impatiently bites his lip_. _He's just too self-conscience to be the one to kiss him.

_That isn't even fair,_ Wade thinks, itching to take him here now in front of all these people, _how can someone so awkward look so goddamn sexy?_

"Is it a date yet?" Wade whispers, flicking his eyes up.

Not only is he pinned to the wall, Peter is trapped inside Wade's shadowy brown eyes. He's going to get lost in them if he looks any deeper. "Sure," Peter mumbles and nods_. If I get a kiss_, he thinks but could never bear to say.

A clearly forced cough puts a stop to the boy's actions.

They look around to the little petite blonde from before, crossing her arms at them. Someone complained.

Well, it may not be a museum, but Peter can now say he's been kicked out of a dairy queen.

oOo

They finished the ice-cream on the way home, though Peter has to admit Wade did eat most of it. "You just got one ice-cream because you're cheap," Peter poked fun at Wade as they approached Stark Tower. Another good thing about Wade is he doesn't seem at all intimidated that Tony Stark is his father.

Wade admits, casually shrugging about it, "I love money. I don't like being parted from money and I don't like being away from money."

"God, why don't you just marry money?"

"Because Peter," Wade sighs, "Money is horrible at sex. Good to buy with, but not to actually have sex with."

Peter can't even handle it, he just laughs. They reach the front door that's the entrance to the business part of the building, but it's the closest to his dad's work shop so it'll do. From the wall, Peter presses a panel and a key pad rolls out. He presses in the pass code and Jarvis greets him, "Ah, Peter welcome home."

They hear the click from the door being unlocked. Peter wishes tonight would've lasted a little longer, but all things end eventually. He rests his hand on the door handle. Awkwardly, Peter tells Wade, "Well, uh, goodnight I guess."

"Yeah," Wade agrees, standing there, kicking his feet. _Control yourself, control yourself_, he has to remind himself, _you'll come on too strong._

Peter bites his lip again in thought. Just do it. Grow a pair and be brave, you might as well if you're going to be a hero. Saving the world will only be that much more intimidating than kissing Wade Wilson. So he can't change his mind, Peter forces him to lean off the door handle as he lightly kisses Wade's lips.

They're soft.

His lips are soft.

Past all the scabs and the damaged done to his body, Wade's lips are soft.

"Weak stuff Pete," Wade whispers as the kiss had ended.

Before he can think, Wade dips right back into him with a much deeper, fuller kiss. He was given the green light so there's no way he's going to hold back, not with Peter, never with Peter. He backs Peter against the glass door and grabs his hips. He yanks him close, right against his crotch to soak up the sweet warmth.

Peter inhales sharply through his nose because he didn't have to time to gasp. It was sudden, causing his muscles to tense up. Yet he strangely feels to safe and secure in Wade's hands, feeling one hand slither up his shirt. He lets himself go and relaxes. He slides his arms across Wade's shoulders, bending them so he can get his fingers through Wade's locks.

Tasting the strawberry, Wade relishes the taste of their warm spit mix with each other. It leaves something desirable in his gut that he would carry with him forever if he could. Peter, however, breaks away, keeping his forehead pressed against Wade's. "Goodnight Wade," he whispers, breathlessly.

"Mm," Wade hums, a sneer stretching from ear to ear, "Wouldn't good morning be such a more pleasant thing to say?"

"Maybe after a few more dates," Peter smiles, his stomach doing twirls.

Jokingly, Wade whines, "You mean I have to take you out again?"

"It's either me or money, Wade."

"Not fair."

Peter moves one hand down, placing it on Wade's chest. He pushes him slightly, just enough so Wade can look him in the eyes. "I'll pay next time."

"That's so sexy," Wade snickers and steals one last kiss. About twenty-eight, no nine, situations he could put Peter in, some dirtier than most, fly through his mind. He wants to eat this boy up whole and he would, if it were possible. It takes everything inside him to break away and he does it in a groan.

Adoringly watching him, Peter laughs as Wade pouts backing away. Peter just waves goodbye, closing his hand as it still hangs in the air. He could get used to that.

"Um, sir," Jarvis speaks up from the wall, "Are you ready to come in now?"

oOo

"Here's your new phone," Tony presents his own personally made touch screen phone to his son. He watches Peter's eyes light up excitedly, the same way they used to when they brought him home a new toy. He goes to grab it, but Tony pulls it away, "Don't break it."

"Okay!" Peter nearly shouts and takes the phone.

"Not that you could. The only way to break that thing is if the Hulk got his hands on it."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Peter chuckles, already setting his passcodes and backgrounds. It's the next morning and they're standing outside Tony's work room. Tony is covered in only Peter could imagine, leaning against the threshold. Peter came to him last night and told him someone opened the door on him at Dairy Queen and he dropped his phone. It also explains the bruise on his cheek.

"Steve is out Captaining so-"

Peter finishes for him, understanding his father well, "so you'll be locking yourself in your workroom."

"I'm glad we could come to an understanding."

"Have fun," Peter mumbles, being absorbed into his new toy. His dad really makes the best stuff. He starts walking off.

"Hey," Tony pouts, stopping him. Peter blinks and looks back to his father's sulking little look, "No love for your dad?" He sighs, looking off into the corners of his eyes, pulling Peter's chain farther, "I just worked hard on your new phone, that's all."

Rolling his eyes at his embarrassing father, Peter tilts around and kisses his cheek. "Thank you," he means and then walks off for good. Tony studies his son. He's no idiot. He knows Peter lied to him last night. He's seen plenty of bruises in his life time and a door did not make that one, a fist did. He won't worry about it. He'll get the truth out of him soon enough…

Sliding his phone into his pocket, Peter finally looks up. He notices little droplets of rain are beginning to run down the windows. It doesn't seem to be hard at all, but the clouds say a different story. It's just picking up. The already gray seems to have the life sucked out of it by the graying tint of clouds. It makes Peter want to drink coffee.

He looks around the other way, wondering where everyone is. He's been so hell bent on training, he thinks he's sort of ignored the avengers other than Clint and Natasha. What was the last thing he said to Bruce? Something about a dark room and developing chemicals… or was it about toast? Now feels like a good time to visit Bruce.

Turning around for a new destination, Peter makes his way through the Stark Tower. They put Bruce's personal lab and his bedroom a little far off compared to where the other rooms are placed. Actually, some of the rooms beside him have nothing inside them at all for, well, obvious reasons.

He rounds a corner and through the glass replacing all the walls, Thor stands in the middle of all the technology that is beyond his comprehension. Thor's face is stern as he seems to be casing the area.

He looks hilariously out of place.

But the face he's making is scary as shit.

Hesitantly, Peter creeps towards the door. He pokes his head through, calmly asking the man with the giant killer hammer, "What are we doing?"

Looking up, Thor spots Peter. His face only softens a moment and then back to something resembling the intent to murder. Peter prays he never receives this look. Thor's voice booms, but he can't help it, it's the voice of a king, "Young Peter, a spider crawled inside this room. I was told by Natasha to rid of it, but it keeps escaping me."

"It's starting to piss you off, huh?"

"Everything on your planet is so little. Spiders in Asgard could challenge the fight of your full grown dogs."

"I could hel-"

"AAAAARRRRGGGGGHHH!" Thor roars, raising his hammer above his head, the veins popping out from underneath his skin. Peter flinches back, knowing what it really means to jump inside your skin. Dropping it deep, Thor swings his hammer around his head and then down. It smashes against the nearest table, crushing the metal now beneath. Peter's mouth drops as he can only watch the dozens of chemicals and brews spill their liquids on the table. Thankfully they just puddle in the middle.

They both watch as a dark little spider crawls away, completely unharmed by the attack. Furious, Thor clenches the handle as he bellows a proclamation, "Here me vindictive creature, mark my words you will taste the horrid metal of my hammer as it rips through the flesh attached to your tiny body."

He's going to destroy the lab.

Before he decides to play whack'a'mole with the spider again, Peter hurries to his side. Carefully, he pats Thor's arm in a comforting way, nothing to set him off. "Hey now," Peter begins to coax him, "you haven't been back to the tower in a while. Why don't you let me handle this meaningless task? Go find the others and catch up. I got this, _really_."

As Thor begrudgingly turns away from this job, they can't see the spider. Crawling down the wall, the little spider finds its way on Bruce's chemical table. He really doesn't know any better. He doesn't know the things he crawls through and over are dangerous chemicals. He can't understand that these things are not things he should be getting into.

He doesn't know any better.

Still, the chemicals mix and they change. They change the spider.

"Alright, go ahead to the shawarma place for lunch, okay?" Peter waves to Thor trudging down the hall way. He thought he would never get him out of here. In a sigh, Peter faces the lab. Where is he supposed to start? That spider probably already left for another room… but what if the harry little creature is still here? Peter dreads the thought of Bruce coming here and getting scared by a spider and the Hulk coming out to murder it.

He'll start looking now.

Peter crouches, peering through the spaces between the machines and under the tables. He spends time watching the walls for any sign of movement. A spider shouldn't be causing this much trouble. Feeling the need to sigh again, Peter straightens up. He feels like he's already spent an eternity in here.

Nauseated suddenly, a sensation washes over the spider. He feels strange and really hungry, starving even. His web is too far away though and he wants food, no _needs_ food now. Only a few feet away, the spider watches a gigantic creature stand tall. He knows this kind. This kind likes to kill things like him. His hunger biasing his decision, he feels it's his turn to attack that creature.

A thought dawns on Peter that he's missing something to actually kill the spider with, so it's pointless to find the spider. He'll just go and bring back a fly swatter-

"_Ah_!" Peter cries, feeling something dig into his neck. It begins stinging instantly and Peter's automatic response is to slap the thing away. His fingers become wet with spider guts. He wipes away the juices on his pants.

By his feet he sees the spider, curled up and lifeless.

Well.

That solves that.

"It really hurts though," Peter mumbles, guessing what he felt was a spider bite. Actually, it burns. "_Ah_," he flinches, shutting his watering eyes. This doesn't feel right. It shouldn't burn this harshly. It's as if his skin is peeling back.

He needs help.

"T-tony," he huffs, holding the bite, putting as much presses as he can on it. No, Tony is locked up in his lab, all communication is cut off. Steve is out. The Avengers must have already left to go out and eat. WHAT'S THE POINT OF LIVING WITH FIVE SUPER HEROES IF THEY'RE NEVER THERE WHEN YOU'RE IN NEED?!

No, he doesn't have time to complain.

In excruciating pain, Peter whimpers, stumbling to get out of the lab. Every limb trembles, even his insides feel as if they're trembling. Where ever he's going to go, he's definitely not going to make it.

Thankfully, he remembers a back way out of the Tower from here. It's there to be a quick escape from the Hulk. As if there was a heat flash, Peter is sweating bullets as if he's stepped inside an oven. It's getting harder to breathe. He screams just to take some pressure off feeling all this pain. He screams all the way outside, causing birds to fly away in fear.

Oh man that was a bad idea.

Nausea hits him through the head like a freight train. It feels as if somewhere has their hands on his brain and they're squeezing it like a lemon. Peter desperately pulls out his phone and gives the voice command to call the one person he trusts just as much as the avengers, "Call Wade Wilson."

He's walking on the side of the road as the rain seems to be picking up. All his sweat mixes in with the rain droplets, and no one could tell which is which anymore.

The chemicals and smells the cars are exuding just make him dizzy, everything is just going in circles. He doesn't want to move anymore.

"Back for more Peter?" Wade asks like a game show host that went pervy.

"_Wade_," Peter whines and stops moving. He stands there, rubbing his face. His whole body is shaking, but it hurts so badly and he doesn't know what to do. It's terrifying. He's so scared, he begins to cry. "Wade, I'm scared."

His voice drops gravely, speaking intently, "Peter? What's going on? Peter?"

"I don't feel so good Wade… I," He swallows, but finds it hard to inhale again. He wheezes and tries to pant, anything so he can breathe "I'm burning up and, and it hurts Wade. It hurts."

"What hurts? Peter? Talk to me, you're not making any sense."

"I can't…" Just as he's realizing it, Peter says it aloud, "I can't see." Everything has become blurry. It just adds on more confusion to Peter's unhinged mind. It's going from blurry to black, even though he's not blinking.

"Peter, where are you?"

"I'm going to close my eyes Wade."

"No! Peter! Stay with me! I'm coming! Are you at home?! Where are you?!"

Peter ignores everything he's being told and lowers to the ground. He closes his eyes and enjoys the coolness of the side walk by the road, "I'm just going to lay down here."

"Peter please!"

Wade can scream into the phone all he wants, Peter passes out.

oOo

Stark Tower, Deadpool slowly learns, has a very wide perimeter. He figured he wouldn't have to worry about searching inside the tower because he's sure if no person could, Jarvis would certainly find him and help or get someone to. He has to have left, but from how he sounded over the phone, there's no way he made it far.

All the way behind the tower, Deadpool starts searching. The sun is already setting. The darker it gets, the more dangerous it is for Peter who's just lying helpless somewhere, probably soaking wet from the rain. He starts his hike up the road when he notices something stranger:

A figure.

Getting a good look, Deadpool breaks into a run. He sees Peter, shivering, no shoes and definitely not well. He wastes no time, picking Peter up from the ground. Carefully, he moves Peter to his back. Guiltily, he sort of hopes Peter puts off waking up for a little longer.

Waking up on Deadpool's back may just knock him out again.

Foot Note:

Thank you so much for reading~


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors Note:**

Haha, I wish I had more to say, but I've already written the first few chapters, I'm just uploading it all at once. Lol.

Thank you so much for reading this far! I really love writing it and I hope you'll continue to enjoy it.

**Chapter****3:**** Are****my ****pants****on****fire****yet?**

_Meanwhile…_

Normally when Steve comes home it's too a full house, being he's always the last one home. Yet tonight, he walks through the front door and there's dead silence. The lights are on, but a ghost might as well flicked the switches. "Hello?" He calls out and waits, but nothing is said in return.

Suspicion fills his gut in an unsavory way. This may be what Tony calls worrying over nothing, but he thinks it's better to work yourself up for nothing, than ignoring a feeling and end up having to pay for it. Logically, he heads towards Tony's workshop. He shuts off the outside world completely when he's in there, so it's Steve's best bet.

Traveling through the tower, his assumptions are made clear. It really is a ghost town. Steve has never grown accustomed to the modern sleek look of Stark Tower, but tonight it's simply unfriendly.

Eventually, he arrives at the shop's door. He tries to open the door, but its locked and even his super strength won't open it. Great. He sighs, knowing this isn't going to be easy and he's sure, Tony isn't going to make it easy. By the keypad beside the door, Steve attempts his code, even if he can predict it's not going to work. It fails him. He sighs again.

Plucking up the strength, Steve presses a dulling white button. A loud noise buzzes before he can speak through the intercom, "Tony. Let me in." He lets the button go. Tony can see him through a camera by the door, so he must see the urgency in his face.

He does. "You know," Tony's voice spills from the speaker, just loud enough to be heard over the raging Black Sabbath music playing, "if you keep making faces like that, you'll just make early wrinkles."

Steve hits the button again, smugly, "Well, you would know. How does it feel to be younger than me, but you have more wrinkles?"

This time he never releases the button. If Tony wants to say something back, he'll just have to come out here and say it to his face and let's be honest, he always has something to say. Steve doesn't wait long for the door to open.

"Good evening," Tony says, leaning through the threshold. The music is off and the eerie silence is made less cold by Tony's mere presence.

"Hi," Steve smiles and gives Tony a very husbandly kiss on the lips. Misleading with his sunny smile, Steve tests Tony, "Where's our son?"

"Around," Tony mentions, trying make it appear offhanded. He turns back into his shop, Steve following behind. "He does, you know? Live here."

Steve grimaces.

Joining him inside, Steve can't help by stare. Steve, as long as he's lived with Tony and as long as he's been in the modern world, still is staggered by the technology. There are aircrafts hanging from the ceiling, while the many makes of Iron man suits are presented in glass cases across the wall, but Steve likes the look of the parts lying around the most. Especially in comparison to the already made machines, it's like they're a preview of what's to come and Tony will be the one to build all these pieces up from the ground. He admires that about Tony.

Stray beams of light pour through the tops of the walls from very small windows, but are beaten by the hanging fluorescent lights. It cuts back on the glow of Tony's many monitors. Tony stands before one, leaning back. He doesn't even look at the screen as he types a few numbers and cracks his neck. His groan almost sounds like a huff as he itches for a bit of relief from his tired muscles.

"Hard night?" Steve asks, sliding around what he calls a mess and what Tony calls organized. He makes it to Tony and rests his chin on Tony's shoulder. Steve comfortably folds his arms around Tony's stomach_. Ah_, Tony thinks, _finally some relief_. His whole body relaxes in Steve's intimately warm hold. If he could, Tony would just sleep like this, although, all things are better done lying down.

"All good ones are," Tony smirks. Actually paying attention to what he's doing now, Tony successfully types in the code and Jarvis is alive again in this room. "How are things going Jarvis? Did you miss me?" Tony asks, reaching back to fiddle with Steve's blonde hair.

"Um, sir…" Jarvis nervously brings up.

"Oh, no, Jarvis my friend," Tony warns the computer, "you know I don't like it when you use that tone."

"I'm sorry sir, but remember when you told me to tell you if something came up?"

As if it were a reflex, Steve's stomach is already churning. Tony's can feel his husband tense up and that's his cue to know this isn't good.

Jarvis tells them, "Well… something came up."

oOo

There was no way. His mind was definitely not up to par and his vision continued to fade in and out of black, but Peter could've sworn he was on Deadpool's back… no that's stupid. He was delusional.

What he does know, what is very apparent to him at the moment is the pain he's feeling right now. Peter keeps his eyes closed, wishing he could just go back to sleep. He can't feel the elephant sitting on his chest or the ache beating around his skull when he's asleep. Honestly, he's exhausted enough to sleep for centuries so it's difficult for him to understand why it's taking him so flippin' long to get back to sleep.

Not at all far from him, Peter hears the sound of a door creaking open, which is strange to him because all the doors in his house don't so much as creak but make a "whooshing" noise. Something isn't right. It's then he remembers what happened. He blacked out outside on the side of the road, but when he moves his fingers, it's soft. Where did he end up?

Confused and slightly concerned for his safety (after these few days, he's very used to this feeling), Peter forces his eye lids to peel open. The light is too harsh to take, causing his eyes to snap shut. He squeezes his brow together, dulling out the pain.

"Peter?" Wade's voice surprises Peter, though it doesn't register on his face. "Are you awake?" Wade asks, sitting on the bed, close to Peter. He leans over, putting his hand on the other side of Peter, making it so he's hovering over him.

Peter moans something inhuman, but at least it's something. Wade releases a little sigh of relief. He was getting worried. Since he picked Peter up, his heart's been lumped inside his throat. He thinks he can swallow it now.

Slowly, Peter tries opening his eyes again, still holding that pained face. He finds Wade over him, inside his arms like a security blanket. Logically, he figures out he's on a bed, probably Wade's bed, which means he's in Wade's room. It is a little disappointing. Somewhere down the road, Peter wishes he was invited in here for more romantic reasons.

Pulling a half smile, Wade can't help but look a little sad. He still tries to make a joke, "You know, now I think I'm going to start dreading phone calls from you. They're never good."

"How-" Peter croaks, his throat uncomfortably dry. He clears his throat and swallows before he can go on, "How did you find me?"

"C'mon Petey, give some credit. I'm not just a hot piece of ass. I'm a pretty smart guy,."

Pitifully, Peter feels weak like he's an over played rag doll. He has to push himself to bring his hand up. It drops more than rests on Wade's cheek. His cheek feels rough inside his hand, but Peter still caresses the skin. "Thank you," He speaks up, having to swallow again.

Wade is thrown by the touch. He jokes. He jokes about his looks all the time, but he knows. He knows very well he's a scabby slab of nothing. He's disgusting.

In wonder of this strange creature, Wade begins to ask Peter, "It doesn't…" He can't finish, _bother you? Touching me? _

Confused, Peter cocks his head, surprised by the quandary in Wade's eyes. Maybe this will answer all of his questions. Peter lifts his head off the pillow, pulling Wade closer. He kisses him, letting it string out to be lengthy and sweet. Unable to hold out, Peter drops back on his pillow, completely exhausted, "How long have I been asleep?"

"Well, let's just say you missed school and now it's one something." It's funny because Peters feels like he hasn't slept in ages. Wait. This isn't good news.

"Oh, no," Peter bellows, disapprovingly. He shakes his head as he tries to get out of bed, "I have to go home. My dads, I need to see my dads. They're probably freaking out-"

"Peter stop," Wade pushes back on Peter's shoulder. He steers him back to the bed, though now he's sitting up. "There's no way you're leaving now. Let's wait to take you home when you're not in pain every time you move an inch, alright?"

"Alright…"

"Alright," Wade sighs, sitting back. He studies Peter as the battered boy rubs his face. Something is still unanswered. Hesitantly, Wade raises the question, "What happened to you yesterday?"

Peter drops his hands and searches around his mind. It could have been anything, food poisoning or maybe he's just sick, but it seemed to be a little more violent than any of that. Never has he had to go through something like that or has even seen something like that. He can honestly say, "I have no idea."

They're quiet for a while. Peter doesn't know what to say and Wade doesn't know how to comfort him.

"I think I need to get up and move around," Peter finally said. Curiously, he dips his nose down and takes a whiff of his arm pit. Oh, he forgot what death smells like, but that's it. "Ugh," Peter nearly hurls, "Can I borrow your shower first?"

"Sure," Wade shrugs and gets up, "Let me get you some clothes to change into."

Peter nods, already pushing himself up. Aching so badly, his muscles start to burn as they remember how to move again. His breathes have become heavy, pushing them in and out of his mouth. It almost sounds like he's giving birth, just raising to his feet. Wade directs him to the door closer to his bed and Peter shuffles that way.

Shutting his drawers, he knows nothing is really going to fit Peter, but what he found will be good enough with a belt and rolled up. He hears the shower head kick on and his head bends that way automatically. He's frozen there, wide eyed and bothered, watching Peter lift his shirt over his head. He reveals his chiseled chest, but it appears soft and smooth with his light skin, something nice enough to touch and touch again.

"Could you put the clothes on the counter?" Peter requests, noticing Wade looking this way, though he naively didn't notice the lust in the stare. He's not the kind of person to think people are actually interested in him that way. He's too modest.

Ducking his head down, Wade marches straight to the bathroom, practically slams down the clothes and hurries out of the room. The doors bang against their locks as Wade passes through them. Peter only raises a brow.

Wade wastes no time, steam rolling straight into the next bed room. He grabs hold of a night stand beside the bed and hurtles it across the room. The lamp on top stays plugged in and simply crashes to the ground while the table makes a deep hole in the wall. Wade roars, smashing his fists into the wall near him, the hole is even deeper than the first. The cuts newly ripped open on his knuckles sting sweetly and the hungry animal inside him feels a smidge of satisfaction.

It's not enough, not in the slightest.

No longer using thought, Wade kicked the desk chair over and then tossed the bed over that's rushed to the other side of the room. Things are knocked over and broken, with his fists he creates holes. His roaring paired with the loud crashings noises, it actually sounds like a storm in this room.

Alarmed, one of his roommates opens his bedroom door, "What is-"

He opens to one of his favorite books hurtling towards his head. Quickly, he shuts the door and waits for the book to make impact. It does, so he tries to enter again. Weasel finds Wade beating his pillow excessively until the goose feathers explode through the threads. He's nervous to ask, but he has to simply on the principle: he really has to know, "Why are you punching my stuff?"

"Because!" Wade snaps, shooting up straight to kick the bed again, "I want to fuck him! But I can't!" He wails on the wall, a solid punching bag, "Cause that would fuck everything up! So I'm FRUSTRATED!" He roars, taking a handful of picture frames and in the same motion hurtles them to the floor. Bits of glass stick into his feet but it doesn't matter.

"But why _my_ stuff?!" Weasel whines.

"It's better than your face!"

"Honestly," Wade goes on as Weasel stands helpless as his room is completely trashed. "I actually want to make love to him goddammit! And," He pauses between punches, "I" punch, "don't" punch, "know" punch, "how" punch, "to" punch, "handle it!"

Sighing, he's growing weary as he picks up a cup still full of water. Wade mentions, slightly more calm, "I've never thought about actually falling for someone-" In the corner of his eye, Wade notices Weasel making a turn out of the room, he shouts, "Wait! Where are you going?! I'm upset, I need you!"

Storming out, Weasel wails, "I DON'T WANT YOU TO SEE ME CRY!" He slams the door behind him, the glass hitting it instead of Weasel.

Inside the shower, Peter was able to miss Wade's episode. He looks into the mirror and wipes away the condensation built up from the steam. The dark gray sweater Wade gave him is of course too big, but it helps pushing up the sleeves. He's also rolled up the jeans up his calf. It's not so bad. He just seems to be scrawnier than usual.

The hot water did wonders for his muscles. Peter believes he's actually able to function now. Shyly, he sticks his head out of the bathroom, the cool air hitting him instantly. With no Wade, Peter steps out and carefully closes the door. Light footed, Peter leaves the bedroom, a self-conscious house guest. The apartment isn't exactly run down, just not taken care of very well.

He first notices Jack Hammer on the couch, fiddling with what looks like a broken action figure. Peter waves, acknowledging himself, "Uh, hey Jack. I see you skipped school too."

A deep grimace weighs heavy on Weasel's face. He only looks at Peter for a second and then packs up his broken toy and his glue. "I prefer Weasel," he grumbles, walking right past Peter into his room, still in shambles. If he were to stay he'd only take his anger out on Peter and that would mean Deadpool taking his fists out on his face.

"Finally!" Wade shouts from the kitchen. Peter follows his voice, chuckling at the sight of Wade in an apron reading 'kiss the chef.' "I made some lunch, chicken nuggets in the shape of dinosaurs and some fries, you're welcome." Wade sees Peter and all his frustrations are climbing back into his chest again. His supreme adorableness heightened as he's wearing not only his clothes but one that are too big for him. Peter isn't making this easy for him.

He walks towards Peter. Peter, after feeling nothing, is staggered by the sudden buzz tickling his head. He flinches back. Brow narrowed, he touches his forehead. Wade is thrown, "Are you okay? Do you have a head ache?"

"No," Peter waves that away. It's not that, but it's hard to describe. He tries to, "It's like a tingling sensation… it feels cautioning like that feeling you get when something is coming towards you, but it's tingling in my head."

"Weird," Wade backs off, "that's really weird."

"I know…" Peter agrees and takes a seat, noticing the unintentional table cloth of papers. Mostly, he sees they're all newspapers, all of them turned to the same page, wanted postings after wanting posting and the reward for bringing these criminals in. That's strange, some of the postings are circled-

Panicked, Wade slides a plate on top of the paper Peter was eyeing, "Start stuffing your face, you haven't eaten in a while."

Peter sees the plate of, like he said, dinosaur chicken nuggets. He has to laugh, "Why am I not surprised?"

"Hey," Wade speaks up, taking the seat beside him, "They cost just as much as the normal ones." He lifts a nugget, shaking it, "except they're not dinosaur shaped." He takes a big bite out of the stegosaurus's head, childishly.

"Mm," Peter hums uncomfortably, "We're too different Wade." He picks up a Tyrannosaurus Rex, presenting it, "I eat the legs first."

"So they don't get away?"

"Exactly," Peter grins before taking a bite of each leg.

"You can't get away if you don't have a head!"

"HA!" Weasel from the other room laughs out of the irony of _Deadpool_ saying that.

Glaring, Wade hopes the death beams coming from his eyes reach Weasel. Let him wait, his time will come. Meanwhile, Peter blushes, figuring out he's been listening to them flirt… at least, that was Peter attempting to flirt. He nibbles sheepishly on his fries, thinking about what he's going to tell his dads. How is he supposed to explain himself if he doesn't even understand what happened?

Not really meaning to, Peter's eyes are drifting around and end up reaching Wade. His eyes grow wide at the sight of Wade's bloody knuckles. Freaking, he shoots up out of his seat, "Wade! What happened to your hand-_hands_?! They weren't like that a second ago." He bends down to his knees, taking one of Wade's hands and begins to examine them.

Awkwardly joking, Wade does not enjoy having serious discussions about himself, "Observant you are Peter, good job, now," He covers his eyes, "Tell me. What color are my eyes?"

"They're brown and," Peter sighs and takes Wade's other hand, "I'm serious."

Not only flattered by the fact Peter actually knew the answer to that, Wade is made uncomfortable by the attention. It's easier when things are not about him. He makes another needless joke, "I might have had a disagreement with the wall." Peter looks down at his cuts, worriedly. Wade huffs, "Don't give me that look, alright? I'm violent, I am-"

Sternly, Peter interrupts him, darting his eyes harshly at Wade, "I know that Wade. Don't you remember last month during economics you had that argument with Mr. Sinco? You tossed your desk across the room, so don't try to shock me. I'm asking what set you off to do this to yourself?"

Again, Peter dumbfounds Wade. "Why…" He wants to ask. If he were brave enough he'd ask, _why do you stick around then? _Peter, he just has to understand is one big jumble of _why?_ But there's no real reason for him, except for him to be him. Wade scoots back his chair and drops to his knees to. His hands still in Peter's, he locks his fingers in between as he whispers, "All you need to know is it's not your fault."

Leaning towards Peter, Wade doesn't break eye contact. He stares Peter down as he tries reclining back, away from Wade. He's laid on his back, his hands held to the floor by Wade. Surrendering, Peter relaxes, ignoring the weight Wade is putting on his body. He closes his eyes and Wade smirks without him knowing.

"But," Wade admits, tilting his head the closer he gets to Peter's lips, "you do have a certain power over what I do."

He's able to just touch first base, before a nice little cock block strolls up. "Hey!" Weasel calls out from his room, "It's three-thirty! School is over!" He knows what he's done and feels very satisfied with his very small ounce of revenge.

Peter chuckles, unlocking his fingers. Groaning, Wade lifts up and Peter wiggles out from underneath him. A deep, growling sigh, Wade presents his hand to Peter as he looks up into nowhere. Peter chuckles and smiles like a doofus. He takes the hand and stands. "I think I need to get home," Peter states, rubbing his still damp hair. "I don't want them to worry anymore."

"Alright," Wade sighs, "grab your stuff. Meet me outside." He walks by Peter, giving his ass a good slap. Peter nearly jumps through the ceiling. Instantly, he smacks Wade's arm in retaliation, laughing to hide his excruciating embarrassment. He points at him, "You calm down."

Wade snickers all the way out the door, leaving Peter to stew his blush. Peter groans loudly from his throat and swiftly shakes his head. He finds all his stuff and throws it into a backpack Wade is surely to lend him. He avoids talking to Jack- _Weasel_ again, just leaving.

The elevator is busted, meaning Peter has to walk down a few flights of stairs, which is no problem. Exiting the building, he doesn't really recognize this part of town, but why would? He's the son of the billionaire Tony Stark.

He finds the sweater was a wise choice to combat the crisp winter air. His ankles may be cold, but it's better than dragging the hem through the ground. He waits for Wade to show up and it suddenly dawns on Peter that he's never seen what Wade drives. He didn't have it the other night and they never arrive at school the same time.

He quickly gets his answer.

"You're joking," Peter drops with his jaw, watching Wade roll up on a red scooter. "I mean, I know you're a little _whimsical_," he puts it nicely, "but you can't seriously ride a scooter. That is lame."

"Uh," Wade snorts, blowing off such slander. Appearing to know something Peter doesn't, smugly by the way, he tries to enlighten the young man, "Peter, A, this is a motor bike and B, have you ever ridden a motor bike?"

Peter honestly shakes his head, completely amused by this and Wade's I'm-god's-gift-to-the-world-sort of look. "Right," Wade nods, "I didn't think so, so C you can't say this is lame if you've never enjoyed riding one."

"And D," Peter assures Wade, "That doesn't stop this from looking incredibly lame so-"

"_Oh, shut up_," Wade groans like a yell, turning to the front. He grips the handle bars, pouting bitterly, "and just get on the damn bike."

Having no regard for Wade's bruised ego, Peter chuckles, throwing his leg over the bike. He rests his hands on Wade's sides and they're off… off incredibly fast. The wind hits him fast and the sound of the motor nearly punctures his ears drums. In fear for his life, Peter instinctively wraps his arms around Wade's whole waist. He burrows his head against his chest, feeling that slight tingling sensation in his head again.

"Don't think they're lame now, huh?!" Wade laughs at his passenger's cowering pose.

"Just drive!"

To Wade's credit, he did bring Peter home in one piece. Scared shitless, but alive.

Peter, with no problem, quickly gets off the bike as if there's a time limit. He exhales for the first time since they left and walks onto the sidewalk. "Um, thanks Wade," Peter nods, making a shy smile, "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Wow," Wade blinks, leaning back far with the grip on handle bars, "After going on a date, saving your butt, sleeping over at my house, even wearing my clothes and several make out sessions, I would say we are dating Mr. Stark-Rogers."

"I think that would be a logical conclusion Mr. Wilson," Peter nods, flickering his eyes to Wade and then to the ground, trying to appear coy. He looks back up with a little smirk, "or you could just try asking me out like a normal person."

Wade chuckles sinisterly, stretching his neck up. Peter begins to lean, in order to meet Wade's lips, when the motor cries out and Wade rolls right on by. "Coward!" Peter shouts at him, ending with an amused chuckle. He watches Wade until he's completely out of sight. There's so much about Wade that's left to anticipate. _Well_, Peter thinks, trying to stay out of the realm of ice cream and sadness, _I'll never be bored_.

He heads to the tower, going to the elevators. The game plan is: go to your room, change out of Wade's clothes, go to your parents, try explaining something unexplainable and hug it out. It's unlikely, but that's all Peter can hope for.

Blinded by his determination, Peter barrels through the living room and through the kitchen. He doesn't realize he just stormed right pass both his fathers, standing behind the kitchen's island. Tony is stirring around his scotch with a tiny thin black straw. He stops, bringing the drink to his lips, "I'm sure he'll notice in a second-"

"Peter!" Steve calls impatiently. He's been running over what he's going to say through his head all day and it's about time he used some of it.

"That works too."

Inching backwards into the room, Peter anxiously stares at his parents. This is it. The next few minutes could either equate to the hugging it out or death. It's funny when you're only options are hugging or dying. He drops his bag by the island and hopes he doesn't sound as suspicious as he really does, "Um, uh, I didn't see you."

_Just tell them the truth_, Peter demands of himself.

"Where were you Peter?" Steve starts the questioning darkly. He doesn't mean to do it. Tony notices it, but unlike Peter, he understands that he's just overwhelmed and concerned. It just comes across as angry. Steve warns, "Don't lie to us."

"I was at school." Crap! They just told you not to lie and you lie! YOU EVEN TOLD YOURSELF NOT TO LIE!

"You're home earlier than normal," Tony makes the note.

"Uh," Peter accidently lets a hesitation slip, in turn, he speaks hurriedly, "I got a ride." Okay, there's a little truth thrown in there.

"From Wade?" Tony asks, a single brow raised.

"Yeah, actually," Peter uneasily chuckles. It doesn't feel right in this thick atmosphere, "that was a good guess."

"Oh, it wasn't a guess."

Revealing a tiny black remote from his pocket, Tony raises it up. He presses down on a red button on the device and from the speakers in this room, a nightmare Peter coldly remembers pours out, muffled under the speaker static:

"_**Wade… Wade, I'm scared**_."

Tony presses the button again, silencing it. It's audio from last night from when he called Wade.

No words, Peter has no words for them. His mind runs wild, downright confused and hurt. "How…" Peter starts, hesitantly. He wonders if he really wants this conversation to go on. If it does, he knows he's going to feel betrayal. The feeling is already rotting inside his belly. Some conversations however, are meant to be had. "How did you get that?"

He plays more and it hits Peter like a knife to the back:

"_**Peter? What's going on? Peter?" **_

"What is going on Peter?" Tony asks, practically throwing it in his face. He really is a little too immature for talks like this. He just loves to be showy and it's pissing Peter off.

"Nothing," He snaps. The anger makes his ears hot. He tightens his hands into a fist, the rage circulating in his veins. Through clenched teeth, Peter tries to stay calm, "How did you get this from my phone?" Before they can answer, it hits him and he could just scream. Fuming now, he takes his phone out, presenting it. He shakes it in the air, shouting out of pure shock, "_Did you bug my phone?_" He tosses the phone across the counter. It skids until it reaches the parents.

"We're just concerned Peter," Steve explains, crossing his arms, "We don't know where your head is at lately."

"That doesn't mean you-!"

Not particularly liking the way Peter is starting to yell at them, Tony childishly plays the audio more:

"_**I don't feel so good Wade… I…I'm burning up and, and it hurts Wade. It hurts." **_

Not only Peter, but Steve glares at Tony. Catching that, he innocently sips on his scotch, avoiding the unfriendly eye contact. Steve gives the attention back to Peter, even if it goes unwanted, "Can you please just tell us what happened? Was it something you ate? Did you take any drugs-?"

"What?" Peter gasps. Both hands, he quickly runs through his hair, wishing he could just tear every lock out, "How can you ask me that? It's like you don't even know me!"

"**What hurts? Peter? Talk to me, you're not making any sense." **

"_Will you stop that?!_"

From outside the room, all the remaining avengers are crouched by the door. They asked Jarvis to crack it just enough to not draw attention, but enough so they can listen in. "They're really tearing him a new one," Clint mumbles.

"We should go out there and help him," Natasha declares and stands up with a mission in her eyes. She reaches for the key pad to fully open the door.

Thinking fast, Bruce grabs her arm. The way her head snapped around to glare makes Bruce let go instantly. Still, he stays strong, explaining to her, calmly, "We can't get in the way. Peter is their son."

"But we're his family too."

"Yes," He agrees, speaking slowly. He does have a crack in his voice, feeling a bit like the bad guy. Though, to be honest that's how he feels all the time. He tells Natasha, "but how they want to raise Peter is their decision. If they need our opinion or our help we'll give it. The same goes with Peter."

"He looks like he needs a hug," Clint pouts.

Thor is pacing behind them, dressed down from his normal Asgrad dress. He's even without his hammer, stroking his beard in thought. "I do not understand it. I spoke words with him yesterday and he did show any problems."

"Oh yeah," Bruce points out as he crosses his arms high on his chest, "You were the last to see him. What was he doing? How did he seem?"

"No different than usual," Thor assures them, "I left him in your lab to slay a spider... I did the destruction towards your table, I must confess."

"Well, that solves one mystery."

Back in the kitchen, tempers are running high. Peter understands now why Wade sometimes lashes out and right now, Peter would like lash out on a number of things like the table or the wall or both.

"**I can't… I can't see."**

"We won't be angry Peter," Steve said as he sets his hands on the table. He leans on them. He just wants to get through to Peter. "Just tell us what happened. There's nothing you can do about it now, so just fess up and get it over with-"

"I am not one of your villains so stop interrogating me like I'm some sort of out of their mind freak! I'm not trying to explode New York, enslave innocent people or control the universe," Peter grabs his bag back and starts for the door, "I just have parents who don't know me!"

"We could if you just let us in-!" Steve's yell is overpowered by Peter's slamming of the emergency exit stairs. It's the only actual door in the house you can slam and he took advantage of it. His stomping down the stairs echoed harshly against the walls in each concrete room. He did this all the way down. Being angry makes him too antsy to keep still, too much so to wait on an elevator. Even when he leaves the Stark Tower, he shifts into a sprint and then an all-out run.

Peter didn't want to have that fight. By his count, he never did anything wrong. It's just, when Steve and Tony accused him and the thing about his phone threw Peter over the edge. He didn't even go into their excessive need to cock block his dreams… Steve did look pretty hurt though.

Suddenly the fight in his run dies out. Peter stumbles across the side walk until he stops. _"Sometimes it's best to just say sorry,"_ Thor once told him. Peter looks back towards home and knows he has to go back or he'll never be able to live with himself.

But he's scared.

Frightened by what they'll believe and think, not to mention, he still has no idea what happened to him last night.

Taking a breath first, Peter steps down to the road and rest his hand on a van's back door. It's a catering company's van, a white one with no window in the back, just the two doors. He slides his hand high, not really thinking.

It's also then he wishes he still had a phone so he could tell them he's heading home.

Oh well.

He stands straight up, heading back to the sidewalk… he can't though. Oddly, Peter looks back, seeing his hand still on the door. Again, he tries taking his hand off the car. It's stuck. His hand feels as if they're super glued to the door. Something must be on the van… right?

"What in the…" Peter sighs and stands before his hand. A little lower, he puts his other hand on the van in an attempt to push off the van. It doesn't work. Maybe if he stretches farther-

His other hand is stuck.

"Alright," Peter chuckles cynically before hoping up onto the bumper. He straightens out his legs, stressing his hands to peel off yet they stay. Okay, this is really starting to piss Peter off. He did not need this right now, or ever.

Just when it couldn't get any worse, the car's engine starts. "Oh, no," Peter gripes, wishing he were dead. He struggles against the van harder, wiggling and thrashing around like crazy. He stays and the car is pulling into incoming traffic. His heart is already going a mile a minute from the anxiety, his limbs going weak (if only that would make himself unstuck).

Peter believes this is the exact moment in life when saying "Oh shit" is the only appropriate thing to say.

Keeping his head down, Peter bears with it. Thankfully, he can't see the cars behind him. All he feels is the heat radiating from their engines. It's only when the car starts going, he actually thinks fondly back to his scooter ride with Wade. Ah, Wade, if only he were around to save his ass again. To him, Wade seems like the person that gets stuck to stupid things at stupid times for no stupid reason too.

Baring it further, Peter just closes his eyes and mouth against the whip lash of wind. He keeps his head down until they come to a stop again. The car turning is really no problem, since, well he's glued to it. Stopping at a red light, Peter exhales a big gulp of breathe for some relief.

What _is_ going on with him? Nothing is right and he's just not functioning the way he's used to. Last night… last night something happened, but what? It must be the cause of all this.

Forgetting himself, Peter glances over to another car. Inside this tan minivan sits a little boy. His mouth drops at the sight of Peter on the car and the sucker in his mouth slips passed his lips onto his shirt. Awkwardly, Peter nods to him (mostly because he can't wave). The little boy, eyes widening, sits up his seat and both his hands land on the window. He presses his face against the glass in amazement, conflicted on whether this is real or not.

Thankfully before he can get anyone to see the boy riding behind the car that's right there! The cars go, getting the green light. It seems like he's on the back of the car for ages before they get to stop again. That's it. If he ever gets off this car he's going to tell Wade he's his boyfriend, tell his parents the truth and just become a photographer… if he could just let go.

Just let go. Peter ponders that idea a moment. Taking a good breathe, Peter tries relaxing. He loosens the tension in his right hand and just like that, it slips right off. He hops down and does the same for his left. It couldn't have been that easy… unless he could control it.

Running out of the road, Peter races through the crowd the city has built up for the mid-evening. Everyone is getting off of work about now. He ducks into the least shady alley way and tries to back off out of view. He faces a long stretch of brick. Peter shakes his head, thinking he's crazy for even trying this.

Slowly, he rests his hand on the wall. He takes it off. Okay. He puts his hand back, but this time creates tension around his hand. He pulls and yet it stays. "This…" Peter talks to himself, finding it okay because all this must means he's crazy, so what's a little conversation with yourself, huh? "This is either really awesome, or terrible."

We'll go with awesome for now.

Peter sets his other hand higher, using the same method. An idea in mind, he hikes his foot up and in the same motion throws his first hand higher. Before he knows it, Peter is climbing up the wall. He starts laughing. He can't stop, the adrenaline and the mere act is too exciting to not get thrilled over. "Unbelievable," He comments, still laughing.

Not meaning to, he relaxes and instantly slides down the wall in a rush. The brick rips at his hand, not enough to draw blood, but to give him a really bad sting. "Whoa!" Peter bellows, pressing back into the wall.

Releasing only one hand this time, he examines his aching hand, seeing the scathing. Ow. He's going to need some gloves.

oOo

Just as he did leaving, Peter comes back to the tower running. For speed, he uses the elevator, though he's pouncing off the walls, he's so excited. Peter doesn't want to get his hopes up, but he's pretty sure this means he has super powers, which is _fucking awesome!_ This is all he's ever wanted. He's so close to his dreams he can taste it and it's sweet. This has to be fate. All the time he's used dreaming of becoming a hero hasn't been wasted. It's time.

The doors couldn't open fast enough with Peter jumping through them. He runs through the house, Steve and Tony absent from the normal places. "Jarvis," Peter calls out, breathlessly, "Where are my parents?"

"Your bedroom sir," the computer answers eloquently.

Oh god, hopefully they're not packing up his stuff.

Worried all of a sudden, Peter races to his room. His door flings open and he rushes out something first, before they can start lecturing him, "Dads, I have to tell you-"

He's stopped by the vision of Captain America and Iron Man in front of his eyes. They're dressed up and ready to go, ready for a battle. "You're leaving," Peter said, his whole mood physically deflating him. Every happy little feeling turns wretched quickly like it always does when it's time for them to leave.

"Something is wrong with a satellite," Iron man explains, his bright eyes glowing fiercely. "They're worried it could fall. If we can't fix it, we have to catch it."

"And someone had to have sabotaged it," Peter adds, knowing the routine.

Captain America looks down, guilt present behind the mask, "Yeah."

Just when he thinks he can tell them, Peter says something else, "I want you guys to know… I did try some drug, b-but I'm never going to do it again," He quickly tells them. "It was stupid. I didn't know what I was doing…"

"You could've told us," Captain America sighs, putting his large hand on Peter's scrawny shoulder, rubbing it, "Never feel afraid to tell us anything."

"I wasn't afraid," Peter would never admit or lie about such a thing. He can honestly say one thing though, "I was just anxious about what you guys would think about me… the last thing I ever want to do is disappoint you."

That shakes Captain America. Bending down, he sets down his other hand, closing in Peter's attention. He looks right into Peter's eyes, attempting to etch these words inside his mind forever, "You can never disappoint us. Not even if you tried."

Tears well up in Peter's eyes and he can't keep it in anymore. He throws his hands around his father's neck, squeezing him in, tightly. Captain America stays weary of his strength, hugging his son back, "I love you Peter."

"I love you dad."

Forgotten, Tony clears his throat to make his presence known. "What?" He says, getting their attention, "Do you only have love for one father?"

"No," Peter chuckles in his teary sigh and unlatches from one father to hug the next one. He couldn't ask for better parents… that's why he lies. He's sick of making them worry. He's not going to tell them anything until he's completely sure… sure of everything.

"We'll try not to be gone long," Captain America assures Peter as he heads towards the door.

Hearing the smile behind all the machinery, Iron Man tells him, stroking his cheek, "I love you kiddo." He follows the Captain out the door, but stops to add one last thing, "By the way, you're grounded. We'll talk more when we get back, about everything, so just consider not having your phone your temporary punishment."

Peter waves at him, half to leave already and for a goodbye. This may be the first time ever, he kind of hopes they take their time. He has a lot of work to do.

**Author's Note: **

Whoa! Do you see that comment button? Damn. Just damn that thing is lookin' good. Don't you wanna tap it?

Just do it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter ****Four:**** One ****Step ****Forward, ****Two**** Steps ****Back**

Now, Peter doesn't want to toot his own horn or anything and he wouldn't want to get cocky, but honesty is important. He's decided to become a more honest person, so what else can he say?

He's flippin' awesome and there's no new hero better than him! He's pretty sure he could even take Natasha now. He'd like to take this time to laugh at all the people who said he couldn't be a hero, poor little scrawny Peter.

A kid has never been so heroic… well, right now isn't a good example, but normally he totally is.

Inside one of the old abandoned Stark Industry's factories, Peter takes a long look at his surroundings. They used to make Stark Weapons here, back when his Dad was into that sort of business. Barley, just barely, you can still smell the gun powder mixed with the stench of minimum wage and the sweat of hard labor. It's manly.

Peter is able to take this long look because he's upside down and isn't entirely sure how he's supposed to get down without breaking his neck. What should be reassuring him are the great acrobatic skills he's acquired from his powers. He's been summersaulting around in the air and kicking off walls, which is only the basics. To him, his new skills have become instinct, as easy to accomplish as it is to breathe.

However, the human still inside Peter is going out of his mind.

Taking a chance, Peter inhales deeply through his nose, closing his eyes. His muscles tense briefly before he 'let's go' of the ceiling. His eyes pop open as he lunges for the railing outlining a second floor to the factory. He grabs it, hard and fast, straightening out his arms. It lets him throw his legs over. He lands hard, shuttering the metal floor beneath him.

Finally, Peter takes a second to breathe, cracking his neck and back. It doesn't take long when he feels the sting burning his palms. He removes one glove, scanning the light scathing. It's not so bad. With only his fingers, he rubs his palm, bothering the ripped skin and grime when suddenly a sensation pulls through his arm and a white mixture shoots through his wrist.

"Whoa!" Stunned, Peter yelps, jumping back as if he could possibly escape his hand. White stuff isn't supposed to come out of place like that! Freaked, Peter grabs his wrist and fervently begins examining his wrist but there's nothing, not even blood from where his wrist opened.

Anxiously, Peter lets his curiosity take over. He climbs down the unconventional way of climbing down the rusting support beams and treads lightly towards the wall. There, against the brick, is a strange mess of white. Carefully, Peter pokes it like any normal curious immature person (honestly, how armful could it be if it came from his wrist?) It's sticky, but soft and looks like…. spider web. The spider.

This all really did start with that spider bite. He should feel more grateful. If only it wasn't the worst experience he ever had to deal with in his life. If only.

For further investigation, Peter takes out his wallet. He balls up some of what he believes is web and places it in his wallet and then it all goes back into his pocket.

"Alright," Peter sighs, "That's enough for today."

oOo

**THE AVENGERS SAVE THE EARTH**

That's all Peter has been seeing lately, no that isn't true, before it was: **CAN THE AVENGERS SAVE US? **And the time before that it was: **THE END OF THE WORLD.**

The newspapers are always so dramatic. Everything is the end of the world to them.

A meteor on a course for earth? END OF THE WORLD.

Loki is on a rampage with delusions of grandeur? END OF THE WORLD.

A cat stuck in a tree? END OF THE WORLD.

Despite his career decision to be a super hero, Peter still goes to school. It might seem a tad suspicious to his parents if he just stopped showing up for class. They might go back on the "he's doing drugs" theory and that could only lead their minds to all kinds of nonsense like he's joining a gang. A gang wouldn't be so bad of it were the Avengers.

A kid can dream.

At school, the sounds of his classmates conversing and their hurried steps used to be so consuming enough. The closing of a locker makes the hairs on his neck stand up. His brain rattles as everyone speaks at once and early when a book smacked into the ground, he nearly jumped out his shows. He senses it all, including Harry trying to sneak up on him. It's something Peter notices he likes to do and he doesn't want to spoil it for him.

"Hey Peter," Harry says quickly, grabbing Peter's sides.

Smirking a little, Peter pretends to jump. Turning to face him, he smiles at Harry to hide his guilt. Don't get Peter wrong, Harry is a great friend, but in all honesty, his best attribute is being very effective Wade repellant. He's been avoiding Wade as if he's had the plague and Wade isn't exactly hiding his, well, displeasure, putting it calmly, rather than saying it's really fucking pissing the fuck out of him—at least that's what Peter received in a text.

Just to be nice, which is brought on by mainly guilt, Peter pays Harry an untrue compliment, "You know, you're pretty good at that."

"What can I say?" Harry shrugs just a tad too casually to be taken that way. "I'm a ninja." He can't hide the joy he gets from a compliment from Peter. Not only that, Peter hasn't seem to be affiliating himself with Wilson lately. Maybe he finally wised up and saw what a prize Harry is.

A kid can dream.

Peter laughs more at him than he does with him. God, he's a terrible friend.

"But seriously," Harry says, leaning into the locker beside Peter. His voice deepens softly as he tries to pull a tender moment out of the air. "Lately it feels like I have to force the life back into you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Peter smiles, pretending to be dumbfounded. He shuts his locker, sensing how badly Harry wants to continue this discussion. He's basically jumping up and down Peter's leg like a puppy dog and Peter can't seem to kick him off.

Walking away, Harry follows like a trend. He goes into his big spiel, a speech he's already prepared. "Peter, every day you come to school with a new bruise or a limp. Half the day you go into a daze-"

"I would rather call it being deep in thought. It just sounds more prestigious."

"C'mon Pete, I'm really concerned. If you're stressed, why don't you do something relaxing, huh?"

Peter's heart actually aches seeing how sweet Harry is being. Throw him a bone, Peter thinks. In a sigh, Peter declares defeat, "Alright… how about we go see a movie? The Rise of the Guardians looks good."

That sends Harry into action. It may not be a romantic movie, but it means Peter with him in a dark room beside each other and that's good enough for him. He's talking faster than his mind is thinking, "Great! Tomorrow is Friday! Let's go after school. We can get dinner too, no, I'll buy and save you that much more stress."

Just as that tingling sensation appears in his head, so does Wade. They all stop to stare at each other, Wade looking them up and down. "Well, isn't that just sweet, setting up a nice little date together," Wade sings with the intent to mock. He turns to Peter, his eyes dead inside, "It makes me want to vomit." Okay that time he was probably serious.

"Wade," Harry huffs, his patience already strained. He had tensed up at the sight of Wade. Though, Peter didn't feel a thing. His head only tingles when there's danger nearby. "Why must you talk like-"

"Haha," Wade snorts, "_must_."

"Oh, whatever," Harry grumbles. "I'll see you later Peter." He taps his shoulder and leaves, his own shoulders slumped over. It's always Wade. He may already piss him off, but Harry is beginning to understand what a thorn Wade is in his side.

This, Peter has been trying to avoid, being alone with Wade. For a week the biggest exchange they've shared was "Hey" and "Sorry, gotta go."

Oh man how it just kills Peter to see Wade. He wants to reach out and touch him, caress him, fondle him, hell everything he can legally do to a man. If he could just kiss Wade that would be a homerun and he thinks about all of that just make things harder for himself. He turns away, "I have to go too."

Peter makes a move to go around Wade. It feels cold brushing him off this way. Surprisingly, Wade doesn't make a grab for Peter. He just lets him walk away. _Whoa_, Peter thinks, feeling pathetic,_ this sucks even harder_. Just when he thinks Wade has given up on him, Wade shouts, completely unashamed by the stares he always seems to capture, "What the fuck Peter! You suck _my_ face, but completely ignore _me_! How is that not fucked up?!"

Trudging down the hall, Peter may be as red as the blood he's going to spill from Wade's face if he keeps this up, but he stays strong and quickens his pace. He needs to get away fast and get away now.

"Don't run away from me!" Wade shouts and makes a break for it. He turns the corner, expecting to see that tight ass siren with his head down, yet he's gone. The hallway isn't even crowded enough for him to hide in it and there's no way…

If there was ever a time not to fuck up, Peter Stark-Rogers, this would be the time. Right above Wade's head, Peter is holding onto the ceiling for dear life. Patiently, he waits for Wade to walk far enough so he can jump down discreetly. He does and Peter prays that's the last of Wade he sees today.

Not if he has anything to do with it.

oOo

"I'm going back to my room," Bruce sighs as he exits the ship's infirmary. Every hallway in this hunk of junk flying through space is narrow and tight. Immediately, he bumps into Tony and Steve by the door, Steve still the only won dressed up in uniform. Bruce does not like this. He gripes loudly, so everyone can be made aware of his discomfort, "To cuddle up with a very large sleeping pill."

Making a large sigh, he tips past them, catching himself by only touching the wall. There is not enough room for him at all and it feels like it's only getting smaller—a cold sweat layers his skin, a discomfort he's unfortunately used to—slowly closing in on him… maybe he'll take that pill on the way to his cabin.

Just like the way over.

"He's fine," Tony nods, smirking a little. He glances to Steve to show off his nice and smug face just to make sure Steve knows he's joking, but Steve's attention is directed elsewhere. His eyes are glued to the infirmary door's window. There he has a full view of Clint lying in bed. Tony would make a joke about how creepy it is to stare at someone sleeping when they're not your child, but it didn't feel appropriate… plus, the intercom cut him off:

"Heads up," Natasha announces, "we're on a set course for home and we'll be home in time for dinner with Peter tomorrow night…"

The very mention of his son relaxes Tony. Carefully, he eye balls Steve, hoping they shared the same effect. He didn't. He's just as tense as ever. "We're heading home," Tony shrugs and leans against the wall, "So relax. We took down the bad guy, saved the world. I say that's a successful mission."

"No it wasn't," Steve stays firm, speaking like a true military man, "I measure the success of a mission by the number of men who can walk away from it."

Tony glances back inside the room, seeing Hawkeye napping on the stretcher. He received a pretty bad burn on his legs. It knocked him off his feet. He dropped pretty far down and landed on his arm, breaking it. Trying to be convincing, Tony's tone stays positive, "Well maybe he can't walk, but we can roll him away from the mission."

Steve chuckles through his nose, letting a smile slip. It's sometimes difficult to be positive when you spend so much time burying yourself in the bad and after a while that can become consuming. You're crushed by it. That's why he and Tony work so well together. The man oozes confidence and sneezes positivity, even if it's masked behind a curtain of snarkiness. Tony Snark.

"C'mon," Tony nods down the hall before nonchalantly going on his way. He walks with a swagger everywhere he goes. Absent of an audience, he still walks down this hallway like he's receiving an award. Maybe the whole world is his stage and he's centered around everyone else. "I'm sure," he emphasizes, "We'll find something to do."

Steve lifts a brow, still surprised by how innocent he can sound while saying something so tasteless.

He still follows him.

They arrive at their cabin, a shared one, unlike the rest. That's the good thing about working with your spouse, even if you have to leave home for business, you never go a night sleeping without them.

Tony leads Steve mindfully, closer into the bedroom before he begins peeling away his Captain America exterior. Steve is lean and built to take down armies, but his skin has this soft quality. Tony realizes his dutiful husband hasn't seen anyone about his own wounds. Peter gets this from him. He always ignores cuts and scrapes and likes to pretend it's nothing. He'll spend every second of the day worrying about the world, but he would never take a moment for himself.

Tony kisses Steve's shoulder, sliding his hands over Steve's hips, stroking them up and down. His facial hair tickles Steve as Tony spreads his kisses up his neck. Steve smiles, bashfully, his breathe shuddering on the way out. He just closes his eyes, allowing himself to relax and just melt in the places Tony's lips touch his skin.

Tony's hands move, gliding over him all the way to his shoulder and then, he turns him around. He holds his neck, taking a moment to look into his eyes. Steve smirks, happily and makes another sigh, "You know, I don't say this often-"

"This'll be rich," Tony remarks, because he just has to sneak a word in.

Steve pulls a sideways grin and looks down, bashfully. He makes it so hard to even compliment him. Steve manages to, "I do appreciate you, Tony." He pauses, giving Tony a on the lips. "I love you."

"Yeah," Tony sighs as if admitting something, "I guess, I love you too."

"You're just so," Steve starts to gripe and Tony just knows, to nag him. Smirking, Tony kisses him again, silencing him. Steve fingers through his dark thick hair, locking him into position for another, much deeper kiss…

A figure, no one has noticed, litters his snickering as he walks by. He turns away, a sneer already firmly placed on his lips. He's surprisingly enjoying himself quite a bit.

_What fools_, Loki thinks, strutting through the ship without a care, _they so easily drop their guards_. He has no need to worry. He's not actually there, replaced by an astral projection. An idea has popped into his head recently, but before he can begin planning, he thought he'd check on his dear brother and his _playmates_.

Suddenly, Loki realizes it. He looks back and has a thought, _I wonder what young Peter is getting up to these days._

oOo

Deadpool, in the office of some haughty taughty man, sighs. He's sitting on top of the guy's round fat belly, which is starting to get annoying because the guy keeps wheezing and reaching out to him, when he isn't coughing a bit of blood. Whatever makes this guy thinks he has a chance of survival, Deadpool is just not seeing. This guy can see his blood all over the place right? Hell, Deadpool's knife is still in his neck….

Oh man… to be honest, this fat fuck isn't what's really bothering Deadpool.

Truthfully, he's feeling a little depressed because of Peter. He knows he didn't fuck up anything, he was the perfect gentleman, well, at least he didn't pound the guy, pound him in any of the areas he'd like. Shit, he should've been given an award. He is definitely not the problem.

"I mean," Deadpool looks at the fatty, "It can't be me. I've been awesome. He's the one with the problem, right?" He waits for an answer. Throwing up his hand, Deadpool emphasizes his question, ready to bitch slap him, "Right?"

In a panic, the man tries his best to nod, hastily.

"That's right," Deadpool nods too, yanking his knife out in the same motion of him standing up. As the man squeezes out his final agonizing breath, Deadpool decides he's going to go tell Peter that to his face.

oOo

The next day comes and Peter is feeling good.

Wade wasn't at school today.

Harry is too consumed by their plans this evening (that isn't a date) to bother with asking any nosey questions.

And, his dads are coming back late tonight.

It's funny how after all he's gone through lately, he thinks this shit isn't gonna get fucked up later.

Staying at a reasonable distance, Wade is crouching behind some woman's legs in line at the Mexican food stand. He's already gotten his chimichanga firmly in his hands (priorities people, c'mon). He's chowing down, waiting for Peter to walk out of the school, some of the meat juices drip out of the corners of his mouth. Where ever he's going, he's getting cornered there.

A slab of sour cream suddenly drops out of the bottom and onto the woman's once classy looking red high heel shoe. Wade snorts out of pure surprise as he backs away before she can tear him apart. Paying attention again, he thankfully catches Peter beside Harry as he's escorting that prick to his pretentious black Bentley. He can see the force in Peter's smile, the way he's pushing Harry to hurry up and just get in the goddamn car before he repeats himself for them millionth 'effing time.

Finally, Peter gives Harry the slip and he waits.

He makes a weak wave to Harry as the priss is driven away because for whatever reason he just can't drive himself.

Then, his smile falls.

Nervously, Wade notices, how Peter looks around, checking for something. He's being cautious. Wade perks up, knowing this is the time to move and he's going to have to be careful about it. A sneaking suspicion rises up in Wade's gut.

He's going to get a lot more than what he bargained for...

Why? Wade wonders, why did he follow Peter to an old broken down weapons factory? It looks like a crack den. _Shit_. Is Peter doing crack? Man, that could've been something they could've done together, like a couple activity.

The sun is still high in the sky. The skies are clear and the world is quiet. This factory is far from the city, only surrounded by the unkempt landscape that's reduced to mainly dirt and the parking lot no car has sat on in years. Wade resists the urge to kick a can and follows Peter at a safe distance. He waits for him to enter the building before he catches up. He wanders around a little, searching for an entrance Peter won't catch him by. In the back, he sees the fire escape and doesn't think another second before he jumps up for the rusty ladder.

"_Alley Oope_," Wade sing-songs, lifting himself up onto the first level. He quickly climbs up to the very top where he sees three musty windows side by side. They're practically glazed over with dust and grime.

He ain't touchin' that.

Pulling up his sleeve, Wade wipes off as much as he can and peaks in. It's just Peter, all alone on the top of the factory floor, which looks particularly shady. All he's doing is putting some fingerless gloves on.

_Oh, wait_, Wade squints in closer, snubbing his nose on the glass. Peter is climbing over the railing. He shouldn't be doing that. He's standing on top of it, breathing heavily and on purpose. He's building himself up, but-

You know when people say, when something terrible is happening, they say the whole world slows down?

That isn't true.

It's happening too fast. It's completely out of Wade's hand, being so far beyond his control it feels like one fast passed blur of the world crumbling and setting on fire. It feels like the whole world is going into as big of panic as he is, all crazy and chaotic. One big jumbled mess, he can maneuver in.

Peter just jumped.

Fragile Peter, his breakable Peter jumped off the railing and is plunging two stories down, to a concrete grave. Wade rips himself off the wall in a craze of panic. He can feel a cool knife twisting inside his gut, ruthlessly. His hand landing hard, he jerks the handle back, yet it's shut tight, corroded by age. He tries it over and over again, but it just feels so hopeless. Desperate now, Wade curses and runs back to the window, winding his fist back to smash through the window-

He's stopped.

Stunned motionless by what he sees.

In mid air, Peter has lifted his arm and through his wrist, what seems to be something white shoots upward. It sticks to the ceiling and as if he's Tarzan, Peter swings by this "rope." He swings across the entire factory. He's fine. In fact, he's loving it. He yells joyfully as if he's on a rollercoaster, when he hits the wall. Crouching onto it, the white "rope" falls and he's holding onto… he's not holding onto anything… he's just sticking to the wall.

Ghostly white, Wade steps a few cautious paces back, until he presses up against the rusty railing. No emotion may register on his face, he's frozen there. He doesn't move. It seems like he doesn't even breathe.

Wade gets it.

You don't need to hit him over the head with a bat for it to register in his brain. Wade gets it. And he's never been so worried.

oOo

Outside the Stark Tower, Peter is still questioning what he chose to wear. It's not a fashion thing. He just didn't want to over dress, because this is definitely not a date, so he couldn't wear one of his nicer, more crisp collar shirts. At the same time, he doesn't want to go in a T-shirt, like he couldn't put in the effort.

_First world problems of an overly anxious teenager, _Peter thinks, cynically.

He went with a plaid thermal and his normal olive green trucker jacket with the dark blue hood attached… maybe he has time to run in and change. No. He needs to calm down.

"Jarvis," Peter says and turns to the key pad by the door, "Go ahead and set the alarm."

"_Are you sure, sir?"_ Jarvis asks what sounds polite with that misleading tone of his, but is actually a little jab towards him, "_I think there are a few shirts in the back of your closet you haven't tried on yet_."

Annoyed, Peter grits his teeth, "No Jarvis. That'll be fine."

"_Anything else sir, before you go on your not-a-date?"_

"Yes," Peter strains a smile. He can't blame Jarvis, he was created by Tony, "tell me what time my dads should be back?"

"Late tonight, well after midnight."

"Okay," Peter ends it, avoiding a thank you because he does not deserve one. He gallops down the stairs, pulling out his new cell. To avoid anyone listening to his conversations again, Peter played it safe and bought his own iPhone. Just as he thought, there's a text from Harry:

**[Sorry. Running late. So sorry.]**

Peter chuckles. He really is sweet. Peter shouldn't be so hard on him. He texts back:

**[It's okay :) But whoa, Harry Osborn late? Is the world ending?]**

Harry quickly sends back a fellow smiley face.

The city is dimming, yet it feels like it's only now waking up. Lights are shining and all the neon signs are flashing. People come in swarms, moving around Peter. Peter imagines Harry is late because of the traffic, taxi cabs and sleek cars are lining up well down the road. Just then a group of girls walk by him, painted up and down with body glitter. They leave a trail of it as they pass.

Obnoxiously, a horn starts blaring, a car line over. Perking up, Peter stretches to take a look and what he finds, really shouldn't surprise him. Wade is rolling over in his dorky red scooter, honking the horn and passing around the cars, who blare their own horns back. He simply just raises a single middle finger at them, approaching Peter.

"Wade," Peter sighs when he's close enough. He doesn't know to do with this man. Wade just drives onto the sidewalk, bombarding Peter. People walking by are already giving him dirty looks. They might as well been looking through glass because not one look affected Wade in the slightest. "You get arrested for being a public nuisance more than the average person, huh?" Peter asks, feeling the pressure already. Wade can't be here to discuss the weather.

"HAHAHAHA," Wade, clearly not amused, yells his fake laughter in Peter's rising grimace. His face dropping, he turns serious quick, "Get on my ride Peter."

"Is that what you're calling your thang?" Peter asks to divert his attention. Mentioning a penis (Well, in his own way, he can't say it public) should really throw him off, maybe even distract him so he can walk around the scooter.

Suddenly, Wade speeds up and blocks his escape. Peter has to jump back so he doesn't get his foot rolled over. "_Wade!_" He snaps half out of freight and half out of anger. What is he doing?

Still fuming, Wade looks at him. He sees the adorable Peter, who's looking at him with those big doe eyes and probably isn't even trying to because he's just the kind of guy who is incredibly cute by accident. He sees the smart ass that tries to challenge him. He also sees that fire in his eyes that says he's afraid and brave all at the same time, which is incredibly sexy. It pisses him off that he's trying to keep all these things away from Wade, when he wants to posses it all.

"Stop joking around Peter," Wade makes himself clear, "I'm serious. We need to talk, so get on my bike before you really start to piss me off."

Nervously, Peter fingers his hair back. "I can't," He blabbers, "H-harry is coming to pick me up, so I don't have time to talk, so, um-" He starts to walk again, but this time Wade grabs his arm, yanking him back. Peter instantly shouts at him, wincing at his grip. The action also makes him blush. He's embarrassed and he doesn't have the strength to fight Wade, never Wade.

Instantly, as the words come out of his mouth, he feels stupid for what he says, "I can't talk Wade. This isn't the time, so can you just…" He can't say it. He can't tell Wade to go away or leave him alone. Just thinking about it, his heart drops.

"_Dammit Peter_!" Wade snaps, pulling him closer. Peter can't look at him, he'll crumble. He'll crumble on the spot. "Don't you dare brush me off again. We're going to talk and you're going to stop bullshitting and so help me god Peter, if you go on this date with that fucker Harry-"

Peter opened his mouth to say it's not a date, but Wade was not having that shit so he easily just talks over him, "And _don't you dare_ tell me it's not, because you _fucking_ know it is. I deserve an explanation." He reaches around, taking Peter's neck in his remaining hand, forcing him to face him, though his eyes are down. "I'm not the kind of guy that puts his tail between his legs and shuts his mouth." Peter looks up. His intuition was right. It's not that his eyes are hurt or broken. It's not even that they're angry. They're intense, concentrated on every single move Peter makes, watching him with this sense of confidence. He knows what he wants and he definitely came here to get it.

Peter blushes a burning red, the heat in his face boils upward into his head and makes him dizzy.

Wade almost breathes the words, "I'm not that guy. I refuse to give up and I'm never going away, until I get what I want. Get on the bike."

"I…" Peter began, just noticing his throat has dried up. He swallows hard, still stuck in Wade's fiery eyes. "It's a scooter."

"For the love of," Wade rolls his eyes and curses every cuss word in the urban dictionary as he yanks Peter over. Peter yelps, finding himself on top of Wade's lap. "Wade! Wait!" He tries to squirm away, but sitting up just helped Wade shove his arms around Peter. He sticks them closely to his waist as he starts driving off the sidewalk.

Freaked, Peter's eyes go wide. He can feel his heart thumping quicken instantly as that tickle in his head waves for help. His shouting almost sounds like squeals, "WADE YOU LET ME OFF THIS THING!"

Only five cars down, Harry was so close… It started as Harry merely wanting to observe. At first, it seemed Peter was trying to get away and then, well… Harry isn't sure. All he knows is Peter went with him. Harry Osborn:

Stood up.

This is crazy.

An overwhelming wave of sadness falls over Harry. He slumps over in his seat, reaching into his pocket. He takes out his cell phone. Maybe he should call…. but it's not like he can answer.

"Isn't it appalling to see such a clearly inferior being be given treasures they nowhere near deserve," a smooth dignified voice flourishes in the silence and Harry's heart just about stops.

He jumps up in his seat, his skin first and the rest of his organs just needed to catch up. Sitting beside him, not even a foot from him is Loki. The super villain Loki. His intense blue eyes glance over Harry that seem all knowing and yet, comforting and he's smiling. Why?

Harry must be going crazy.

Harry backs himself into the corner of the car, pushing himself, trembling limbs and all against the door. Even his lips quiver, "You're- you're- you're-" This man, this God can kill him. He's completely powerless and that terrifies him.

"I know who I am," Loki's perfectly toothy smile widens, "the question is," He tilts his head, his eyes squinting slightly, "do you know who you are?"

"I'm, uh H-Harry Os-"

"Oh, no," Loki sits back, shaking his head, "No. You are a man of class." He talks about Harry grandly, setting him up on a pedestal that he makes no opposition taking. His voice is airy and light under that smile, "You an intellectual… you are an outstanding man with enough wealth and capital to have the world at your finger tips if you so wish." His gestures move so elegantly, until he closes his thin white fingers into a tight fist. Darkening, his brow drop and he leans closer, "What's rightfully yours is being taken away by a Neanderthal…"

That hits home for Harry.

"Believe me," Loki sighs, tiredly, "I know very well how that feels."

Harry relaxes, letting himself fall comfortably back into his seat. Obviously, Loki isn't trying to cause him harm. If he wanted to, he would have already done so. Loki goes on, "It must burn you up inside… watching that beast parade around, acting as if he's possibly better than you."

Hypnotized by his words, Harry nods once. Harry admits, "It does. I," He tries to speak up, "I know I'm the better option."

Loki reaches over. Wincing, Harry tenses, readying for the impact. He knows this is it…

All Loki does is pat his shoulder. He pats his shoulder like his father would. Loki tells him, "I see a lot of myself in you, young Harry."

Suddenly, a mist of bright green spills over Harry's eyes. It vanishes almost as soon as it appears. All Harry feels is a little dizzy. It was only a second of confusion, of sensing something wrong, but then it disappeared… visually at least.

Loki grins, "You're positively green with envy."

Foot Note:

Hey you. Yeah you. You know I'm talking to you, you're the sexiest one here… you know what I need ;)

Comment pwease.


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